Don't leave me alone
by GinnyBrandon93
Summary: When Mary takes up nursing in Downton hospital, on Sybil's insistence, she has no idea of what lies ahead for her. When Matthew shows up, seriously injured and probably shell-shocked, she admits to herself she's never stopped loving him.
1. It all began with a bad idea

Lady Mary Crawley was having breakfast with her father and sisters.

It was a nice spring day in 1918, and one wouldn't have believed that a war was going on out there.

Her thought immediately went to her cousin, Matthew Crawley.

She had hated him at first, when he had just arrived in Downton, knowing that he was to inherit her father's estate, but in the past years she had learned to know him… and now that he was at war, far away in France, in constant danger, she constantly thought about him, and was going mad with worry.

_God, please, keep him safe_… she thought once again, and she huffed. She wasn't all that pious, she didn't even know if she really believed God existed, but… Matthew was so dear, so important to her, that it came natural. Even to pray for him.

"Don't you think, Mary?" Edith's voice shook her out of her reverie. She had no idea what she was talking about.

"I don't know" she answered, pleased to see Edith's eyes sparkle with irritation.

"I was just telling Papa that I want to keep myself busy, it's so horrible to have a hospital installed in the house…" she said.

"Well, I think that it isn't so horrible… at least we truly are helping the wounded to get better. Anyway, I could use some business too, you know? Sometimes I just feel like I have nothing useful to do." Mary had intended to share a bit of polite conversation, but Sybil's head shot up at her words, eyes shining and a smile on her lips.

"Oh, Mary, that's wonderful of you! Please, Papa, let her come and help in the hospital! We are always short of volunteers, and I'm sure Mary is willing to help…"

"Well, dear, if she is so kind to offer, I can't see why she shouldn't." Lord Grantham smiled to his daughters, and resumed reading his newspaper.

Mary, at this point, would have gladly kicked herself. She hadn't meant to offer as a nurse, she had hoped that her father would have agreed to let her work with him for a while.

Anyway, now she was in, and after breakfast she followed Sybil at the hospital.

Dr. Clarkson greeted her fondly, and an experienced nurse, Mrs. Lipton, started showing her what she would need to do.

Dressing wounds and looking after the patients wasn't half as horrible as she would have expected, and after a morning of hard work she started feeling happy of the distraction her new occupation brought to her mind.

She was really doing something, she was truly helping, and for as much difficult as it was to admit it even to herself, Mary thought that maybe Sibyl had done her a favor in involving her in the hospital.

That night, she finally got to sleep without tossing and turning in bed for hours.

Life went on quite peacefully at Downton, and as days turned in weeks and months she truly got passionate about her work.

The only bad thing was that the number of wounded men arriving from the front was getting higher and higher, and she was convinced that the war was only a waste. How could anyone want to see a son, a brother, a husband, a fiancé, a friend, an acquaintance, a perfect stranger even, die far away from home, or suffer so much from horrible wounds?

Anyway, she had patients who needed to be taken care of, and she concentrated on dressing wounds and bringing pills, but a phrase got spontaneously to her lips, and she whispered once more "God, please… Keep him safe…", her mind once more on Matthew.

That afternoon, she took tea with her grandmother, The Dowager Countess, and her mother.

"Haven't you heard from Matthew, dear?" Granny had asked, her eyes innocent.

"Well…" she had answered, blushing inexplicably. "He's written Papa several times, and I know his last letter arrived about ten days ago, and he said that he was on the front line, and that he was fine… but no, he doesn't write to me, he's… I mean, we aren't… It wouldn't be appropriate" she finished, blushing more furiously than before.

She noticed her mother and grandmother exchanging a knowing look, but she refused to keep on talking on Cousin Matthew.

The following day, she was woken by Anna, apparently still in the middle of the night.

"Anna, what on earth has taken you? It's still dark outside, why have you woken me?"

"Milady, I know it's really early, but Dr. Clarkson has just phoned. He needs you and Lady Sybil to go down to the hospital immediately, a huge number of wounded men is arriving and he needs all the nurses there."

Mary jumped out of bed, and she let Anna dress her without more complains, even though her eyes kept on getting closed.

After breakfast, they headed down to the village, and as the sun rose, they got to the hospital, together with the first ambulance.

All day they worked, assessing the gravity of the wounds while dressing them, helping Dr. Clarkson in surgeries and trying to comfort the young men they were assisting.

Just after eight p.m., when they thought their shift was coming to an end, three ambulances got in.

One of the drivers started explaining, "They are so serious, sir, we couldn't bring them any further… I know it's late, but…" Dr. Clarkson waved off his apology. "This is an hospital, we're used to emergencies", and they started bringing him the wounded.

Mary was so, so tired. She had worked no-stop since that morning, and as she started to look after one of the three seriously injured men, she was startled by how her hands were shaking.

They didn't know his name, since he had been out cold ever since he'd been collected on the battlefield.

But as she looked at his face, tense and in pain under the stubble, the blood and the mud, she realized that this soldier, who had been involved in a shell explosion and had _probable spinal damage_, and so many cuts and bruises, was Matthew.

She called out for Dr. Clarkson, redoubling her efforts, and cleaning tenderly away all the grim from his face.

"It's Captain Crawley" she said, breathless, to an astonished Dr. Clarkson.

"I see." The doctor stated. "Well, nurse, I expect you to take care of him. I'll come back tomorrow morning to visit him properly, I will need him awake to assess his back's condition, and until the effect of the morphine doesn't wear down he won't wake up".

Sybil helped her, and they cleaned every single wound, getting him in a clean pajama and tucking him in bed before leaving, long past midnight.

They'd go back to the hospital early the following morning, with their father.

Mary had grimaced, but she had also sent a telegram to Lavinia, the girl Matthew had been courting the last time he had been in Downton.

She couldn't think of him getting engaged to someone without getting sick, but she was too stubborn, and she wouldn't admit to anybody, much less her mother or grandmother, that her discomfort with Lavinia was that _she_ wanted to be the woman Matthew chose to marry. And she couldn't like anybody who, apparently, had what she wanted so much.

And there was Sir Richard Carlisle, too… but she couldn't think of that now, she simply couldn't.

Mary cried herself to sleep that night, the pain of seeing Matthew so seriously injured getting unbearable.

When Sybil had taken his folded uniform from his bed to his night table, a little stuffed dog had fallen on the floor. She had picked it up, and recognized it instantly.

"What is this doing here?" she had asked Mary.

"I had given it to him for luck" the older sister had whispered, remembering that day in 1916, when she had said goodbye to Matthew in Downton Station.

"If only it had worked…" Sybil had whispered, placing the little toy on top of the uniform.

"Well" Mary had answered, "at least he's alive."

Those three little words were the only thing that had kept Mary from going mad.

He _was_ alive, and now he was home, and she fell asleep amid tears, trying to convince herself that all would go well.


	2. drama in the air

Mary woke up at 5 sharp, her eyes opening in the dark of her room and looking around, her breath heavy as if she had just run.

She had dreamed of Matthew, once again. And as she truly got awake, her memories of the previous evening came to her in a rush.

The interminable shift, the dozens of wounded soldiers.

The ambulances coming at that ungodly hour.

The last of them arriving late, in the evening.

Recognizing Matthew in the injured, dirty, helpless soldier in front of her.

_Probable spinal damage_.

She remembered, and tears pooled in her eyes. She hadn't really had time to think about what that meant the previous evening, the urge to look after him too evident to think to anything else.

That could mean all and nothing, Sybil had told her.

But then, she had already seen those words other times.

Other soldiers had come with a similar diagnosis, and she remembered.

Private Mason, unable to walk or stand.

Lieutenant Philips, who could turn his head and speak, but couldn't use his legs nor his arms.

Major Wendling, who had never gained back his consciousness and had died a couple of days after his arrival.

She sobbed, hard, and she understood that she couldn't stand to stay in bed a second more.

She turned on the light, and she rang for Anna.

Dressed and ready to go, she had a quick breakfast in the dim lit dining room, and she took off for the hospital before six, leaving a note for her father and Sybil.

She met an exhausted but surprised Dr. Clarkson on the door. He had just come out of a surgery, and was heading home for a couple of hours of rest.

"Lady Mary! You're very early today, is everything alright?" he asked.

"It is, thank you" she answered, smiling slightly. "I was awake, and I simply decided to come down and start my shift straight away".

"Well, that's very considerate of you." Dr. Clarkson hid a yawn. "I shall let you go, than, nurse. I'll see you later."

"Goodbye, Dr. Clarkson".

Mary entered the hospital, still quite dark despite the rising sun.

She sat down near Matthew's bed, and noticed how still he had been the whole night, the sheets still perfectly tidied around his body.

It was almost seven when his eyelids moved, fluttering slightly, and she heard a faint groan coming from him; then, his blue eyes opened, and he quickly look around, as if he was scared by something.

His gaze fell upon her, and his eyes got soft, a little spark in them.

"Mary…" he whispered hoarsely, his mouth dry and his throat bruised.

"I'm here, Matthew" she answered, whispering softly. "You're home, in Downton. Everything's fine".

She had put her hand on top of his, and smiling slightly he took it, before closing his eyes again.

"I feel so tired…" he whispered.

"I know… Just sleep, Matthew, it's fine. You'll find me here when you wake up." Mary whispered, a silent tear streaming down her cheek as she looked at him.

She told Sybil that Matthew had briefly woken up and recognized her straight away, and they informed Dr. Clarkson together as soon as he came back.

By midday, Matthew was once again awake, and Dr. Clarkson started examining his back.

Mary was waiting for him to finish with the visit, when she saw Lavinia standing near the door, pale and looking terrified.

She went to her at once.

"How is he?" Lavinia had asked, too out of herself with worry to greet her properly.

"He is awake, and present…" Mary had answered, willing to calm her down. "Dr. Clarkson is visiting him right now".

Lord Grantham entered the room, approaching the two young ladies.

"Good morning, Miss Swire, Mary" he greeted them. "How is Matthew today?"

"Good morning, Papa. He's awake this morning, and Dr. Clarkson is examining him right now."

The same Dr. Clarkson had just approached them, and started to let them know the results of his examination of Matthew's injuries.

"It's not too good, I'm afraid" he had started, and Mary had felt a chill going down her spine, but she had kept silent, while Lavinia had taken her hand in hers, crushing it with a force Mary had never suspected she possessed.

"It _is _indeed a spinal injury. Captain Crawley has no sensation or movement below his waist… In other words, he isn't able to walk, or stand, owing to the injury his back has sustained. I'm sorry, but I must tell you that there are very high chances that this damage will be permanent…"

Mary was standing there, unable to say anything, the words swirling in her mind and the pain threatening to crush her. _He's home, and alive_, she repeated to herself.

Lavinia had started to cry softly, a hand clamped over her mouth.

"You must be allowed to grieve" the doctor continued, talking to Lavinia. "But you need to understand that this isn't the end of his life".

"Just the start of a different one" Mary said softly.

"Exactly. Lord Grantham, may I have a word with you?" the doctor left, followed by her father.

Mary placed her hand on Lavinia's shoulder, trying to calm her down.

The other girl recomposed herself slowly, asking Mary for a handkerchief when she realized she didn't have one with her.

"You should go and see him" Mary had suggested.

"I… I want to be with him, but.. I can't go there now…" Lavinia had sobbed, starting to cry again. "I can't go and… and tell him… I can't cry in front of him… How…" she was agitated and pale, and Mary took pity on her.

"It's fine, you've just got here from London and you've had horrible news. I perfectly understand that you're upset… go home and unpack, you can come back in one hour and spend some time with him."

Lavinia looked at her with grateful eyes.

"I hope you won't think too badly of me" she had whispered. "I feel awful for needing time to settle to the news, but…"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. After all, he's already fallen asleep again… don't worry, you will spend time with him. I perfectly understand why you don't want him to see you crying." She had smiled softly to Lavinia, who had thanked her before leaving.

Mary had just got back to the chair by Matthew's bed, when he started moaning, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"No, please, please, no, please, NO!" he screamed, his voice getting higher and higher with each word.

He was thrashing in bed; his arms, trapped under the blankets, were fighting to get free.

She was surprised, but after a moment or two of staring at him, she snapped into action and scrolled him by his shoulder, calling his name, attempting to wake him up.

As soon as she touched him, his eyes snapped open, but they were glazed, unseeing, and he retreated from her touch, panting and trembling, his hands flying up to protect his face.

Mary withdrew her hand, aghast, and started whispering his name, in a soothing, calm way, hoping to bring him back from the place his mind had brought him into.

"Matthew, it's Mary… you're home, in Downton… Everything's all right.." she chanted again and again, until his trembling subsided and his eyes finally focused on her.

He took her hand, his eyes fixed on her face, as if he were trying to convince himself she was actually there, and that he wasn't amidst all the horror he had dreamt of so little earlier.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, averting his gaze.

"Don't" she answered, a decided note in her tone. "There's nothing to apologize for".

She smiled, and, trying to distract him from what had just happened, she said, "Lavinia just got here from London. She'll be here any moment, I think."

Matthew didn't acknowledge her reminder of his fiancé, and asked her, "Have you heard from Mother?"

"She's on her way, I'm sure Papa has informed her as soon as he knew."

"What has Dr. Clarkson said about my legs? I still seem to be unable to move them… or to feel them, now that I think about it…"

Mary's heart froze. He was there, battered and bruised, pale and obviously recovering from a horrible nightmare, and she would have to break him completely… she knew him, and she knew how he would take the news.

_I can't do this,_ she thought.

"You haven't been here for twenty-four hours, nothing will have settled yet" she kept vague, hoping it would be enough for now.

"Tell me" he asked, looking away from her, his jaw set and his muscles clearly tensed, as if he was locking them down waiting for a blow.

And so she did, explaining what Dr. Carson had said, trying to underline that nothing was set in stone, and that he would be able to have a normal life.

His hand crushed hers, gripping it tightly enough to hurt her, and silent tears streamed down his cheeks, and he whispered only a strangled "I see", while she cried silently with him.

"What a disappointment I am to all of you…" he muttered bitterly, some minutes later. "I was summoned here to be the heir… and now, I am completely, totally useless… impotent, crippled… unable to sleep without screaming and crying like a three-year-old… and it was so little a while ago that I have turned you down… this is quite a reversal, you have to admit" he laughed, without any humor or joy in it.

"The only thing I'll admit is that you've survived the war and you're home" she said, then she stood up, as Lavinia had just showed up and was approaching.

She left them the time to talk, filling in Dr. Clarkson on Matthew's episode of terror, and she was leaving his office, thinking about his explanations on shell shock, when she was startled by a crying Lavinia, running down the corridor and out of the door without a single word.


	3. a couple of disasters

She was astonished, but worry grew inside her as she wondered what on earth had made Lavinia flee crying like that.

She scurried, half running, up the corridor, into the room, to find Matthew lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling with a sad look in his eyes, but no other thing wrong about him.

Mary sat down, trying to understand what had happened.

"I've told her to leave, to go back in London" Matthew whispered, still looking anywhere but to Mary.

"I don't want to be a burden for her… or for anybody…" he added, tears flowing down his cheeks.

"I'm just a wreck, I would be better off if I had died… anything would be better than living this half-life…" his voice was bitter, his eyes dull.

Her heart clenched, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she couldn't live without him… that he was everything to her… But she couldn't, and she knew it. Sir Richard existed, and she couldn't cross him.

"Please…" she whispered, trying to take his hand in hers. "Matthew, please… Don't… you are not a burden, I… We are all so glad that you're fine…"

"I-AM-_NOT_-FINE!" he screamed, pulling away from her touch, his face red from the effort. "I don't want your pity, Mary! I don't even know what you're doing here! You never cared about me, I was only a sea-monster, remember? Well, maybe now you will be able to get Downton Abbey and your father's money, after all… isn't that what you have always wanted?" he fell back on his pillows, turning his face towards the wall, panting from exertion.

She was perched on the chair, petrified, her heart beating furiously in her chest and her ears still ringing from his screams. Her eyes were full of tears, and her thoughts a jammed mess of hurt and love and rage.

_How can you think those things of me? How can you think I'm here out of pity? How can you even think that I don't care about you?_

_Oh, Matthew… I never wanted Downton for myself, not after I understood that I love you… if it meant that you could be happy, I would give it up right now, without looking back…_

_Why can't you see that you deserve some happiness after all you've been through?_

Mary stood up, without a word, and started to walk away from him, too stricken to be able to say something.

She hadn't done more than three steps, when she heard his voice.

"Please… Don't go… I'm so sorry…"

She turned to look at him, completely confused by his sudden change of mood.

"Mary…" he whispered again, silent tears going down his cheeks as he looked at her, clearly ashamed of his outburst. "I am so sorry… I don't know what's happening to me… I'm not angry with you; I don't think those things… Please…"

Her heart swelled, and she went back to the chair she had occupied until then. She smiled softly.

"You have every right to be angry, Matthew… I understand it… But please, don't cut me out… I do care about you… More than you think…" she had let out more than she had intended to, but her heart had taken hold of her, and she couldn't regret it, when Matthew took her hand.

"We're friends again, then?" he had asked, trying to sound cheerful and failing.

"Sure" she had managed to answer, her throat tight.

He had evidently exhausted himself during his fit of fury, and he fell asleep quickly, holding Mary's hand.

Mary had got back home in time for the dressing gong that night, and she was really surprised by Carson's appearance in the drawing room right before dinner.

"Sir Richard Carlisle" he announced, retiring respectfully as the Londoner entered.

The evening was a nightmare for Mary, who was completely unable to eat anything and finally excused herself just after the men had joined the ladies after dinner, lamenting a headache.

_Thank God he's leaving tomorrow,_ she thought as she crossed the hall.

"Mary?" Lord Grantham's voice stopped her as she prepared to climb the stairs. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking quite concerned.

"It's just a headache, Papa" she answered.

"Can I have a quick word with you, then?" he went on. "I know you are strongly opinionated, and I respect that, but you must let me tell you I don't like that man, Mary. You have accepted his proposal, and I have given my consent, but I can see that you aren't in love with him. Why would you marry him?"

She closed her eyes for a moment; she didn't want her father to see through her lies.

She didn't want to marry Sir Richard, but that was part of their agreement… if she didn't marry him, he would publish the whole, unabridged story of her liaison with Pamuk, she would be ruined, and her family along with her.

"I do love him, Papa. Don't worry for me, I'll be happy. Good night."

She kissed her father on the cheek and left him there, bewildered and at a loss for words, but still unconvinced by his elder daughter's behaviour.

The next morning, Mary woke up once again quite early, as she wanted to bid Sir Richard goodbye before he left Downton. He was going to America for business, and he would spend there two months.

"Oh, Lady Mary" he greeted her when she got in the hall. "I hope you're feeling better this morning"

"I am, thank you" she answered, smiling. They were alone, as Carson had momentarily left to see if the car had already been brought up front.

"I have been told last night by your sister, Lady Edith, that you spend quite an amount of time nursing one particular soldier, a Captain Crawley." She had opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off, looking at her in a threatening fashion. "Now, I happen to know that you two have shared quite a romance in the past… I would be grateful if you will give up his care to another nurse, or, well… I will have to re-think my agreement to your request".

He took a step back and towards the door as Carson re-entered.

"Good bye, Lady Mary."

"Good bye, Sir Richard. Have a pleasant trip" she answered, trying to sound her usual self.

She went quickly back up to her room, saying that she had forgotten her handkerchief, as she would need to leave for the hospital immediately after breakfast.

_I won't give up on Matthew_. She thought to herself. _And Edith will have to learn to keep that mouth of hers tightly shut, if she wants to be able to live peacefully in this house. _

At breakfast, she got an unexpected note from Lavinia, who asked her to go and visit her that same morning, as she would be leaving for London with the midday train.

"I can't stay if he so clearly doesn't want me to" Lavinia told her in the little parlor of Crawley House.

"He was pretty clear yesterday, and I don't see how I could impose my presence when it is so unwelcome by Matthew."

Mary tried to tell her that, sometimes, shell shock brought men to say things they didn't mean, and that, according to Dr. Clarkson, Matthew was very probably suffering from that condition.

"Oh, I do know that, Mary." Lavinia answered. " But, you see, the point is that he doesn't love me. He has clearly said so. And, well… we've never actually announced our engagement, because it only happened the last time he was on leave before this… So, there's nothing I can do…"

"Lavinia, I'm quite sure that he has lied to you… Matthew would never propose to a woman he isn't in love with…" Mary was at a loss, she couldn't see why Matthew would do such a thing, and he had always been such a polite, lovely man…

"Well, then you might also be able to tell me why he was saying your name in his sleep, yesterday, while I was with him" Lavinia shot back, her eyes full of tears.

Mary stood there, taken aback and completely unable to think, let alone answer.

"See. That's what I thought. Goodbye, Mary." She rang for Mrs. Bird, who accompanied Mary to the door.

Isobel was waiting for her there, an unreadable expression on her face.

"She has told me the reason they've broken the engagement for. I..." she began, but Isobel cut her off.

"I know, I talked to Lavinia too. I am so very sorry for the dear girl, but... I can't say I'm surprised. I've seen the way you look at my son, Mary, and as far as things regarding Matthew go, I will only say that a mother understands certain things. Forgive me if my words are inappropriate, dear, but I hope you'll understand. Too many mistakes have already been made."

"Cousin Isobel, I..." Mary was blushing furiously.

"I know, I know, you're late and you should already be at the hospital, and the same is for me. I shall come with you, let's go."

The two women left, side by side, Mary still at a loss for words.

_What did she mean with that speech of hers about me and Matthew and mistakes? _

_I perfectly know that I've done wrong at that blasted Garden Party before the war, but... _

_How can she think that Matthew has broken his engagement because of me? That can't be..._

She had to admit that, sometimes, Cousin Isobel could be as unpredictable and irritating as Granny was.


	4. sometimes it isn't as bad as it seems

_It was winter, and the mud had been replaced by the snow and the hard, frozen ground beneath it. _

_He couldn't tell that it was a welcome change, because the cold had always been one of the many unbearable things about life in the trenches, and more cold couldn't be welcome, even if it brought away the incredible discomfort of being perpetually surrounded by mud. _

_He was resting a bit in a tiny shelter, built in the wall of one of the trenches somewhere near Amiens, in northern France, when he heard the first shells going off, the ground trembling beneath him. _

_He sprang to his feet, knowing that he would soon have to fight, out there in the cold and the fear and the horror, and his eyes went to the framed picture he'd brought with him after his last leave, mere weeks ago. _

_His fiancé, Lavinia. _

_And yet, for the umpteenth time, he didn't see Lavinia in that picture, when he looked at it looking for some strength, for the courage he needed to go out there. _

_He didn't think of the blonde, kind, shy girl he had met in London; he thought of the only woman he had ever truly loved in his life. Long, dark hair always perfectly pinned to her head, sparkling brown eyes, so kind and yet so teasing when she was laughing about something; a smile that could send his heart beating so fast and make him dizzy. _

_Mary. _

_He didn't know how possibly he could still be in love with her, how she could still be his force after what had happened between them at that Garden Party that had marked the end of his hopes, after the furious quarrelling and the withdrawal of his proposal._

_He knew that his decision of joining up the army, instead of waiting for the call, had depended also on his wish to forget her… And yet, he couldn't give up his feelings for her, and only the thought of getting back to Downton, to her, had the power to keep him going in the hell the war was. _

_The sound of the whistle shook him out of his reverie, and he thought once more of Mary before running out of the shelter, ready to fight. _

_They were under attack; the German artillery was firing incessantly, while the infantry assaulted the trenches occupied by the British and French soldiers. _

_The snow had already turned red, and the smell of blood hit him forcefully as he fought, trying to save his own life as well as those of the men he was responsible for. _

_He started running, trying to reach a friend of his, a nice, young boy who was still in Cambridge, who was fighting desperately against two Huns at a time, but when he was nearly there, a revolting stench hit him like a punch in the stomach, and he knew before seeing it that something was completely wrong. _

_Flames suddenly crept up in front of him, only two feet away, the hot already unbearable in the narrow space the trench was, and he could clearly see Albert engulfed in them, along with many others, screaming and consuming in the fire…_

_He couldn't move, and he suddenly realized he was screaming at the top of his lungs… _

Mary had just entered the hospital when she heard Matthew's bloodcurdling scream.

Dr. Clarkson had met Isobel and her on the stone path that led to the entrance, and he had quickly informed them that he thought Matthew was quite ready to try to sit on a chair, and she had been happy, but she forgot about it as soon as she realized what was going on.

She hurried to his bedside, determined to wake him up from his nightmare, and tried to wake him without touching him, remembering what had happened the previous time.

Big, fat tears were streaming down his cheeks, his body shaking with heart wrenching sobs as he murmured something, and then screamed once again, clearly terrified and even more evidently completely unaware of her voice and her presence.

"Matthew, please, wake up…" she tried again, "It's all right, you're at home…"

Desperate to put an end to his sufferings, she raised her hand and passed her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him and wake him up as gently as she could, chanting over and over the words she had pronounced moments before.

Gradually, his thrashing subsided, and he opened his eyes, quickly scanning his surroundings before fixing his gaze on Mary.

"You're here…" he whispered, taking a shuddering breath to try and easy a bit the dull ache of terror in his chest.

She went on stroking his hair, relishing in the feeling of his soft strands between her fingers.

"I am." She smiled softly. "Go back to sleep, it's still early…"

"Mary…" he reached for her other hand, holding it tightly in his own. "I… I can't, please, I don't want to… to go back there, it's too much… Please, I can't…" he grew more and more agitated, more tears pooling in his blue eyes.

"Shhh… it's alright, Matthew, everything's fine… You're home, you're not going back, I promise…"

He seemed to gradually calm down, and he confessed in a little, strained voice, "I can't sleep… I just… I get back there every time…" he shuddered.

"Hey, shhh… I'm here, Matthew, you can talk to me. If you want to, you can tell me about that nightmare… And if you want to sleep some more, I'll go and fetch you a pill, and you won't dream at all."

She was still combing his hair with her fingers, and he clearly appreciated her gesture.

He wanted to tell her, so much, even though he couldn't even understand why, but she was so kind and beautiful, and despite everything he loved her…

And so he started to tell her, trembling, tears going down his cheeks, her hand crushed in his as he held on to her, and in some way she _was_ his lifeline… she always had been, back then and all the way along…

The cold.

The mud.

The barren landscape.

The stench.

The rotting bodies, laying on the battlefield and tangled in the barbed wire.

The shells and the machine gun fire, the sounds of the battle, horrible and terrifying and yet somehow blended in the surrounding screams and moans.

The flames, the horror of watching men he knew dying.

And when he couldn't talk anymore, when he could only cry, she was still there, holding him and whispering sweet nothings to him, comforting him with her very presence.

She didn't know how much time had passed, when Matthew's trembling finally subsided, his breathing going back to normal, and he laid back on his pillows exhausted by all the emotions that had been bottled up inside of him for so long.

Suddenly, his face got ashen, a green hue to his skin, and he muttered, "I'm going to be sick" just in time for her to grab a bowl from his bedside table, and Mary supported him kindly as he retched.

"I'm sorry" he muttered, as she stood up and covered the bowl with a towel.

"Don't" she answered, stroking his cheek. "I'll be right back" she whispered, and she hurried to drop the bowl in the basket of the things to be washed and disinfected, before getting a sleeping pill and a glass of water back with her at Matthew's bedside.

Mary ran into Isobel, who had just been to see Matthew for a minute, while she was going back, and she whispered to her, "You've become quite the nurse, Mary", leaving before she could answer.

He was battling with his heavy eyelids by then, clearly afraid of more nightmares.

"You truly need to rest, Matthew" she told him softly, handing him the pill and helping him to drink, and then she settled him back again, his head on the soft pillow his mother had just brought him.

"Mary…" he whispered, already half asleep. "Please… stay…" he looked at her, his eyes begging her silently.

"I will" she promised, sitting on the chair always at his bedside. He was already asleep.

_You don't need to ask,_ she thought, looking at him fondly. _I would never leave you willingly… _

_But you are to marry Sir Richard,_ a little voice reminded her.

_He will be in America for months. And I don't love him; I will never possibly love anybody as much as I love Matthew… I don't want to think about Sir Richard… _

_If only there was a way to get rid of him,_ she sighed. But her mind didn't stay there for long; she was with Matthew, now, who needed her, and she spent the rest of the morning on that chair, holding his hand while he slept peacefully thanks to the pill.

Isobel had observed Mary and her son all along, and a small smile was playing on her lips.

She hadn't liked Mary too much, she had to admit it, and she had quite disliked her after the disastrous garden party in 1916, but now she had to admit that she hoped that the two of them would see what was so plain to her.

They were in love with each other, deeply, and Isobel knew that her son only allowed Mary near to him in this painful time of his life, and could see the tender expression and the loving gaze the young woman always sported when she was around Matthew.

_Maybe there still is hope for them_, she thought, and she went back to work still smiling softly.


	5. don't leave me alone

That very evening, Dr. Clarkson authorized Matthew to move from his bed to a wheelchair.

Mary and Isobel were there, as well as the whole party from Downton Abbey; even the Dowager Countess had joined them, ready to celebrate the improvement, but Matthew didn't really feel in a mood for celebration.

He was sullen and angry, and did not pay attention to their attempts to include him in the conversation.

Mary sensed that something was wrong with him; he had been quite cheerful in the afternoon, replying playfully to her banter and smiling at her jokes, but he had retreated in himself ever since he had worn his uniform and her parents and sisters had arrived, ready to accompany him to Downton Abbey, where he would spend his convalescence.

She excused herself, and went to find him, half-hidden in a dark corner of the room, away from the rest of the party, and looking crossly at the wooden floor.

"How about a little tour outside? Personally, I fancy a bit of fresh air" she stated, smiling, and she took hold of his chair, pushing him out of the door in the warm summer air before he could reply.

"Thank you" he muttered, after a minute, Mary's steps on the stone path the only sound around them.

"I'm sorry to be such a spoilsport, but… I don't feel like there's something to celebrate at all, and… I really feel uncomfortable with so many people near to me…" he was blushing, his red cheeks visible in the moonlight.

"You don't need to apologize" she answered, putting her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him silently. "But I do think there is something worth of celebration…" Mary had stopped, and she moved in front of him, squatting down so that they were on the same height.

She looked at him, knowing that he wouldn't agree with her next words, but she had to tell them, because she wanted him to believe her… to _see_ that she was right…

"You're here, and you're alive…" he had opened his mouth, already sporting a cross expression, but she silenced him with a look, wanting to finish her little speech.

"I have been working here for months, Matthew, and I _know_ how close you have been to not come back. I have seen and heard what this war is like… I have seen the wounds and heard the screams and the moans…" she was letting her heart out, bare in front of him, trying to help him understand. "I understand why you are so angry, but… you are home, and you have a chance, and…"

"And I shall appreciate what I have, instead of mulling over what I've lost…"

They were both crying now, and he had taken her hands in his, looking at her with sad but determined eyes.

"You've always been in my mind, you know, all through the war… Even if I was engaged to Lavinia, when I was out there, and I needed comfort, I thought of you… and after all, I think that maybe this has worked…" he had taken the little stuffed dog out of his pocket, and he showed it to her, his gaze locking with hers as she whispered softly, "Oh, Matthew…" and they were so near, now, that he could count her lashes…

The sound of steps shook them out of their little bubble, and Mary stood up as her father approached, a smile on his lips.

"We are all ready to go, Matthew, Mary. Shall we go back inside? Dr. Clarkson wants to thank you before saying goodbye." Lord Grantham said, preceding them in the brightly lit room.

That night, after bidding good night to Matthew in the hall, Mary went straight to Edith's bedroom, ready for a confrontation with her sister.

"What's up?" Edith asked her, already in her nightgown.

"I just wanted to ask you why on earth you've gone around, telling Sir Richard about me spending all my time with Matthew!" Mary said, her irritation clear in her words.

"Well", Edith answered, "I don't see why he shouldn't know. You're engaged to him, aren't you? He was quite interested in knowing that you spent so much time looking after another man."

Mary was furious.

"What I do tell him, or what I omit, is my business only! Don't you dare tell him anything about me, ever again! If you will, I will make sure to make your life miserable, and you perfectly know I'm capable of doing that!"

Edith was seraphic, controlling her hair in the mirror before getting back to bed.

"Fine, I'll keep my mouth shut" she conceded. "But if I were you, I would think it through once more before going on and getting married to Sir Richard. In my own opinion, you're behaving like this simply because you're still in love with Matthew, but you're too posh and too proud to admit it even to yourself." She feigned a yawn in perfect lady-style. "Good night, Mary".

She left the room, completely astonished. Edith had figured her out, and even though she was quite sure she wouldn't want to cross her again, she felt a little more unsure than she had been.

_Is it so evident, that I am in love with him? Has he noticed? _

_Lavinia surely has, that's why she's been so cold with me before leaving…_

She had gone back to bed, feeling flustered and completely worn out, but she remembered thinking, just before falling asleep, that maybe, just maybe, there was something she could do, something she could give Sir Richard that he would want more than her hand in marriage…

_There must be a way to get rid of him,_ she thought, and she fell asleep, her mind looking for a solution even during repose.

When Anna came up to wake her, pulling aside the heavy curtains and letting the bright sunlight in, Mary felt like chasing her away and going back to sleep, but she knew she couldn't.

She had lots of things to do; her work as a nurse had to go on, even though from now on she would work in her house and not in the village hospital, as Matthew wanted her to keep him company.

Once dressed and awake enough to do so without falling down the stairs, she joined her family for breakfast.

She was finishing her cup of tea, finally feeling a bit more like a human being, when Isobel burst in the room, pale and agitated, followed by an astonished and deeply preoccupied Carson.

"Cousin Mary, I'm sorry to disturb you, but you must come at once. Matthew…"

Mary had already got to her feet, and she started towards Matthew's bedroom immediately.

Isobel followed her, explaining that he was in such a state of terror, that he wouldn't allow anybody near him, and he had also hurt himself hitting violently against the nightstand trying to get free of her hands;

she was totally upset.

Mary asked her to stay in the corridor just out Matthew's room, so that she and Carson would be near in case they were needed.

She entered, and approached him quietly.

He was half-sitting in bed, his face hidden in his hands in a defensive gesture, while his shoulders were shaking with sobs, his body trembling.

"Matthew…" she whispered softly, still one or two steps away; she didn't want to scare him.

"Everything's fine, you're at home… It's Mary, Matthew… It's all right…" she chanted it on and on, kneeling down beside the bed, repeating it many times before trying to touch him.

Finally, she put her hand on his back, stroking it gently in a circular gesture.

He didn't acknowledge her, but he didn't shrug away her hand.

She kept on caressing him, always chanting that he was home and all right and that she was there with him, and, gradually, his crying ceased, and he raised his head to look at her, with a plea in his expression that shattered her heart in a million pieces.

Mary had sat down on the edge of his bed; "I'm here", she murmured, and he hugged her tightly, hiding his face in the crook of her neck, his body still trembling.

"I'm so sorry…" he whispered.

She kissed his temple, still tracing patterns on his pajama-clad back.

"Shhh… It's all right…" she soothed, her other hand combing his messy blond hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"Mary… I am… I…" he sighed heavily, and she could feel hot tears dampening the collar of her blouse.

"Please… Don't leave me alone… I can't bear being alone, not after…" he shuddered, and she held him closer to her chest, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, soothing away some of his pain.

_Once again, she had been there to save him from the horror of his memories. _

_He was drowning in them, in the terror and the pain and the fear, and her voice, her touch were there to bring him back to Downton, back to life, back to her. _

_She was holding him, comforting him with her sweet touch and her voice, and he couldn't help wishing she was doing it because she was in love with him. _

_He knew she couldn't possibly be in love with him; she loved him, yes, as she would have loved a brother, but she couldn't possibly be in love with him, not after all this time, not when she was engaged to someone else, not after she had seen him so completely broken, a shell of the man he once had been. _

_And yet, when he was finally at peace, just before falling completely asleep, while he was in that blessed state that comes after full consciousness and yet isn't dream yet, he had felt her feather-light kiss on his temple, and he had heard her whisper, so soft it was almost lost in the sound of her heart. _

"_I love you…"_

Mary felt his weight shift in her arms, his breath becoming steadier and deeper.

He had fallen asleep, and she couldn't resist.

She placed one more, light kiss on his temple, and she whispered, so softly, "I love you…".

_I only wish I could tell you,_ she thought, before settling him gently against his pillows and sitting down in the little armchair in the corner.

Isobel had just entered the room.


	6. of secrets and forgiveness

Two weeks had passed since that morning; Matthew and Mary had established a routine of some sort, and their bond was stronger and stronger with every day that passed, even though neither of them would believe it even existed in the first place.

Lady Grantham had been quite surprised at first, but, when she brought up the matter during an afternoon tea with the Dowager Countess, she had been reprimanded by her mother-in-law.

"Oh, Cora, finally! You have seen the light! Those two are bound to end up married, believe me! They always have been, and I just pray this is the good time Mary decides to give up that hideous newspaper man and finally follows her heart!"

Isobel was jealously keeping a secret; she had heard something she shouldn't have, but she was happy…

She had to admit that she had harboured ill feelings towards the older of the Crawley sisters for quite a long time, but now, she had quite forgiven her.

When she had heard Mary whispering a tender "I love you" to her asleep son, after one of his worse fits of terror, Isobel had realized that she couldn't possibly be angry with her young cousin any longer.

Mary and Matthew spent their day together, reading and talking and going around in the gardens, and she would tuck him in bed in the evenings, trying to keep his nightmares at bay as long as possible.

That night, her Aunt Rosamund had been invited to have dinner in Downton, and Matthew had taken part in the house party with his mother.

Right before the dessert, she introduced a topic in conversation Mary would have gladly avoided.

"So, Mary, tell me a little more about that fiancé of yours", she had prompted. "I have met him a week or so before he started his trip to America, but I haven't really got to know him properly…"

"Well, Aunt Rosamund" she had replied, embarrassed, "what could I say? He is a nice, respectable man, and he's really agreeable" she had stated, gaining a really perplexed look by her father, and a snort by her grandmother, who never lost occasion to let her opinion known.

Matthew hadn't opened his mouth, but Isobel had hastily changed the course of the conversation.

When the men had joined them after dinner, Mary had noticed that he was not in the best of moods, and he had barely spoken to anyone during the whole evening.

She tried to make small conversation when she joined him in his bedroom, to keep him company until he fell asleep, talking about the progress Mr. Drake had done thanks to his new tractor, but he was lost in his thoughts and didn't seem particularly interested in the matter.

A few minutes later, he had fallen asleep.

Mary had just closed her eyes, giving in to exhaustion and promising herself it would be for five minutes only, her head resting lightly on Matthew's shoulder, when she heard him sob slightly in the dark of his bedroom, as if he was trying to hold it back.

She moved, slowly, placing her left hand on his chest, over his heart, caressing him over his pajama shirt with her fingertips.

"What's wrong, Matthew?"

He didn't answer, tensing beneath her hand. She looked at him, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Please…" was all he muttered, before shutting his eyelids firmly closed, a grimace on his face.

She was worried beyond her wits, but tried to keep calm.

_You can't help him if you freak out_, she remembered herself.

"Matthew, I'm here. What's the matter?"

He looked at her, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I… I can't stop thinking about… About Richard Carlisle… Mary, I know I have no right to ask, but… Do you… Are you in love with him?"

Matthew hid his face in his hands; he couldn't bring himself to see her face after being so tactless.

He knew that she would be offended, and was waiting for a reproach.

Suddenly, he felt Mary's little hand cover his own, pulling it gently away from his forehead.

She was incredibly serious, her eyes holding something so deep and desperate that made his heart ache.

"I'm not in love with him, Matthew… And I obviously don't want to be his wife… But he knows something about me… That could ruin the whole family…"

He was astonished.

"What could you have done to be such terrible a secret?"

She smiled sadly.

"I'll tell you… But I'm afraid you won't even want to see me when you'll know…"

She told him about the horrible night of so many years ago, of Kamal Pamuk and her unforgivable actions.

"Did you love him?" Matthew asked, completely at a loss for words.

"Of course not, Matthew! I barely knew him…"

"Then why…?" He asked, trying to get his brain back to its proper, normal functioning.

"It was lust, or need for excitement… I was young, and foolish… And I regretted it straight away… and now you'll despise me, I know it…" she couldn't look at him, she was too scared.

"I could never despise you, Mary. Never." He paused, reaching for her hand. "And I think you shouldn't marry Carlisle."

She looked up at him, struck by his words.

"You mean you've forgiven me?" she couldn't understand how Matthew could be so kind to her, when her own mother had stated that she was 'damaged goods'.

"No, I haven't" he answered, making her heart clench.

"I don't think you need my forgiveness", he went on, looking at her. "You are a strong, clever, beautiful woman, and if only…" he stopped, his heart beating furiously, her hand still in his.

She was crying, tears sliding down her cheeks, looking at him with her large, sweet brown eyes with a tender expression that made him shiver and his heart swelled with love for her.

"I don't want to leave Downton… to leave you" she whispered, so low he could barely hear her. "But if I refuse him, and he publishes this story…"

"Mary" he pronounced her name so tenderly, she felt protected by the simple sound of his voice. "Let him have his article, if that's what he wants. He doesn't deserve you…"

His voice became little more than a breath, and he whispered, "And I know you don't love me, that nobody would love me the way I am, but… I love you, and… Please… Don't leave me alone…"

He was crying, too, the prospect of losing again her unbearable, the hope of her loving him so near to zero…

And then her hands were on his cheeks, her thumbs were wiping away his tears, and she was looking in his eyes with joy, and hope, in her own…

"Matthew…" she whispered " I'm not going anywhere… Oh, God… I love you, too… I love you so much…"

His heart swelled, he felt suddenly dizzy, and he could do nothing more than taking her beautiful, heart-shaped face in his hands and kiss her, sweetly and reverently.

She thought she was dreaming; she had revealed her darkest secret to him, and he hadn't flinched.

He _loved_ her, and he was _kissing_ her, and his hands on her face and his lips on hers were pure bliss…

_God, please, if this is a dream don't ever wake me up…_ she thought, kissing him back gently, her fingers threading in his hair, her heart swelling with pure joy.

"I love you" he repeated, when the kiss ended, lying back on his pillows and bringing her with him, her head on his chest.

She kissed his neck lightly, slipping her hand in his.

"You need your rest, darling" she whispered, settling down better beside him on the narrow mattress. She knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

She was in his arms, and she felt at home for the first time in her adult life.

"Good night, love" he whispered, holding her tight against his side.

"Sweet dreams" Mary's answer was soft, content, and slumber descended upon them both.


	7. promises

Isobel had gone to Downton Abbey early that morning, after a night of tossing and turning in bed.

She knew it wasn't completely appropriate, as the breakfast would be going on when she arrived, but she was unable to stay away; she was too worried for her son.

She had seen the effects of shell shock before, and she couldn't help thinking that so many young men had ended up taking their own lives when they were alone, hoping to put an end to their sufferings.

But, most of all, she couldn't believe that she had been so blinded by her love for Matthew, to refuse to see things as they really were. Matthew was evidently shell shocked, and she had to do something, to be sure that he wouldn't…

_Not my son, please_… she had prayed silently the whole night. _I love him too much… I can't lose him…_

She entered the hall, an astonished Carson in her wake.

"Lord Grantham and Lady Edith are in the dining room, Mrs. Crawley…"

"Thank you, Carson, but I don't want to disturb them during their breakfast. I would be really grateful if you could tell Lord Grantham that I'm here… To see my son" she ended, with a small smile.

Carson started immediately to lead. "Very well, ma'am. This way."

_It was cold, so very cold, the rain pouring from the gray sky on the barren, muddy landscape. _

_The trench was full of mud, the smell of the heavy, wet earth revolting, as it was completely drenched in blood. _

_The machine gun fire went on incessantly, its sound constant for hours, accompanied by louder explosions as shell after shell went off, making the ground tremble. _

_He could hear the groans and moans of the hurt and the dying, scattered across the battlefield. _

_He knew a new attack was to be carried out soon, the artillery was trying to open the field for them._

_He was tired, cold, and scared of what was coming, and the only thought that kept him going despite everything was that he had to survive, to go home, at Downton, because Mary was there…_

_He heard the whistle, and he began to climb. His friend from university, Andrew Evans, was at his side, and they flung themselves into the battle, firing against the Huns as they ran. _

_He saw the German coming only at the last moment, and couldn't help screaming "NO!" when the soldier slid his knife across Andrew's throat. _

_He fired at the Hun, killing him, and knelt, trembling, beside Andrew, soaking his hands in his friend's blood, trying to stop it… The young soldier pushed an envelope into his hands. "Please…" he whispered, blood gashing out his mouth, too. "Give this to Evelyn.. tell her.. I love her…" he closed his eyes, and laid still. _

_Matthew screamed, horror and pain making it impossible to hold back. _

"Cold… so cold…" he had whispered, shivering, and Mary woke.

She looked at his face, tense and pale in his sleep.

It was early morning, a pale light entering the window of his bedroom, the grass outside shimmering with little droplets of water.

She took his hand, caressing its back with her thumb, trying to ease him back to a peaceful slumber without waking him up.

He began thrashing, his arms moving furiously as if to escape from something.

"NO!" he screamed, tears streaking down his cheeks.

She took his face in her hands, calling him softly, trying to wake him up.

He screamed again, pure agony in his voice, his chest wrenched by his sobs.

Mary kissed him, hoping it would bring him back to her.

"Matthew, you're all right, you're home…" she chanted it again and again, kissing softly his cheeks, his lips, his forehead, and he gradually calmed down, opening his eyes and looking at her with sheer relief written all over his face.

"Mary…" he whispered, and he sobbed.

"I'm here, darling. Shhh…" she hugged him, threading her fingers in his blond hair, his head resting on her shoulder and his arms circling her waist. "It's all right, Matthew… it's all right…"

His sobs gradually ceased, leaving him trembling and exhausted in her arms.

"Mary… I'm so sorry you have to put up with this…" he whispered, hiding his face with trembling fingers. "I don't deserve you…" a tear streamed down his cheek.

Her heart broke all over again, and she took his face in her hands, wiping away his tears.

Mary kissed him, pouring all her heart into it, and he kissed her back hungrily, all his need for her breaking into the kiss.

"I love you", she whispered every single time their lips came apart for a moment.

"I love you too" Matthew breathed when they broke apart. "But…"

She cut him off. She knew what was coming, and she wouldn't take it.

_I've already lost him once, I won't let him down ever again_.

"Matthew, don't. I'm no Lavinia, you won't send me away. I love you, and I will break my engagement to Sir Richard as soon as he gets back to America. I don't want to risk and get the letter lost in the ocean… I want to be sure that I've finally got rid of him."

"Mary, I'm no good… I can't even sleep at night… I can't … My back… I am unable to stand, or... feel anything… You know that Dr. Clarkson thinks I won't be able to… to have children…darling, you have to admit that…" he was on the verge of tears again.

He knew he had to find a way to let her go, but the mere thought of a life without her was unbearable.

She took his hand, her thumb rubbed tiny circles on the back of his bruised one.

"I'll only admit that you've been through hell and you've come back to me." She whispered softly.

"Maybe this isn't the best we can have, and I think that it could be the worse we'll be handed, and God knows what kind of scandal Sir Richard will take out of my story with Pamuk, but you are worth it. I know what it is like being without you, thinking that you're gone…And I'm sure I don't want to be without you, ever again." her eyes were full of tears. "I will be here for you, Matthew, and I pray that won't be the case, but I will wake you up from your nightmares for the rest of my life if I'll need to… I _love_ you…" she repeated those three little words once more, so forcefully, and he couldn't help giving in to his own love for her, his need of her.

He kissed her.

He knew he shouldn't, because he couldn't give her everything she deserved, but he needed her, and he couldn't renounce to her, not now that he knew she was in love with him.

"Marry me…" he whispered. "I know this isn't how it should be, but…"

"Yes" she said, with shimmering eyes and a smile slowly spreading on her face. "A thousand times yes…"

He kissed her again, and someone knocked.

Mary hastily retreated to the chair by his bedside, trying to make sure her hair was at least decent, and Matthew had to stifle a laugh before he said "Come in". Her hand was still in his.

Isobel was on the threshold, smiling fondly at them, all her worries gone. Mary was with him.

She had noticed the young woman's crumpled clothes and not-perfectly-made hair, and she thought that, maybe, her son had never been alone.

"Good morning, Mother" Matthew smiled.

"Good morning, dear, Mary." Isobel took the other chair, while Mary greeted her.

"I think I'll go up and get changed before breakfast…" she said, blushing.

She kissed Matthew's cheek and bid goodbye at Isobel, leaving them alone.

"I see you're fine and happy, today." Isobel said. " Mary was up quite early…"

Matthew smiled again. "Mother, I know I should have done things differently, but… I have loved her for so long… and I thought she would never love me back, not after she'd seen me like I am now… But she does… and.. I proposed to her… Please, don't be angry…"

"My dear, dear boy, how could I be?" she had tears in her eyes. She knew that there were many things that still had to get clear, but she couldn't help being delighted of the news.

"I'm so, so happy to hear this…" She kissed his cheek. "Congratulations, son".


	8. Of storm-bravers and soldiers

Mary went down to breakfast, on that morning of 29th September, feeling completely at peace for the first time since the whole Pamuk incident had happened.

She smiled fondly at her father and even to Edith as she sat down, holding a full plate of food in her hands.

Lord Grantham gave her an envelope, and she was quite surprised. She wasn't waiting for any letter.

_ New York, 4__th__ September 1918_

_Lady Mary,_

_I am writing in order to let you know that rumors are spreading both in New York and in London about your escapade. _

_I am therefore bound to inform you that our agreement does not stand anymore, as it would undoubtedly damage both me and my business. _

_I will not pay you visit anymore, and I would appreciate it if you will not call on me in London, either. _

_The article will appear in the paper on October 1__st__. _

_ With distinction,_

_ Sir Richard Carlisle_

She felt dizzy, and couldn't tell if she was still breathing.

She was ruined, definitely, and she couldn't do anything about it.

"Mary? Are you all right?" Lord Grantham's voice was low and soft, his brow creased and his expression worried as he scrutinized his elder daughter's face. "You've become as pale as a ghost".

"Yes… yes, Papa, I'm fine. I'm just not hungry anymore…" she excused herself and rose, crossing the dining room and the hall quickly, and started to run up the stairs.

She knocked on the door and burst into her mother's room, nearly knocking over Mrs O'Brien who was just retreating.

She pushed the card in her mother's hands, and began pacing as she read.

"Mary…" lady Grantham whispered. She knew her still unmarried daughter's chances to go on living the life she had always known were nil, after the publication of the article.

Mary felt awful about it, but she had started to weep silently. She hadn't wept in so long, and now she couldn't even fight against it.

"I will write to Grand-mama straight away, you could wait it out in America and then maybe…" lady Grantham suggested. Maybe there still were American millionaires who did not read English papers, she hoped.

"No, Mama. You perfectly know it would not work" Mary replied, slowly getting back her self-control. "Besides, there is one more thing you should know. Matthew proposed to me last night, and I said yes." She smiled at this.

Lady Grantham was surprised, and she had just whispered "But…" when Mary cut her short once again.

"He knows about this. I told him everything, and he doesn't care. He just wants me, Mama."

"Oh… well, what can I say? If he really does, then… I know you're in love with him… We shall tell Papa right after breakfast, he can't read the awful thing without knowing…"

Mary left her mother's room feeling a little bit better; she had plans, her life would continue, and she was so incredibly happy to marry Matthew that the whole thing was going back to its real importance, even if she didn't exactly fancy telling Lord Grantham about the late Mr. Pamuk.

She met Matthew and Isobel in the drawing room, and she dropped the bomb immediately.

"How could you!" Isobel lashed out at Mary. "How could you take advantage of Matthew once again! I thought you were sincere, but now I see…"

Matthew cut her off, an angry expression on his face, grabbing Mary's hand and threading his fingers with hers.

"Mother, stop it! I am perfectly capable of defending myself… And Mary has never lied to me. I knew everything about Pamuk, she had told me before I asked her to marry me".

Isobel was completely astonished, and she stood there, pale and with a distant gaze, for several moments, while Matthew explained her that he already knew about everything and that he didn't think any less of Mary for something that had happened so long before.

She wasn't a haughty woman, and she apologized to Mary heartily.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry… You will think so badly of me after this… Mary… what can I say? I was so surprised that I have said things I don't think…"

"Cousin Isobel, I understand. I…"

Isobel cut her off, and moved Mary to the verge of tears with her reaction.

"I know what it means to be young, my dear, and I agree with my son. You don't need anyone's forgiveness, because there's nothing to forgive. You made a mistake, and you admit it. There's nothing more to say, apart from that I am so very glad to have you as a daughter."

She hugged Mary, and she stood up. "Now I'll go, dears, Dr. Clarkson is waiting for me at the hospital".

When Mrs. Crawley went out of the door, a rust of chilly air came into the room, and the door shut forcefully, with a loud bang that echoed in the high-ceilinged hall.

Matthew let out a fearful moan, looking around with glazed over eyes, in search of some invisible danger.

He was in his wheelchair, and it was dangerously shaking and threatening to fall on its side, as he had practically dived on his right, his torso perched on the armrest.

Mary rushed to him, kneeling down on the floor at his side.

She took his face in her hands, trying to make him look at her, to make him see that nothing was wrong.

"Matthew… Look at me… Darling, it's all right, you're at home… Look at me, honey, please… Come back to me…" she combed his hair back from his forehead, repeating her words over and over, sweetly, trying to reassure him.

After a few moments, she had been able to help him sit back straight, and he had raised his eyes to look at her, his head on her stomach while she caressed gently his back.

"Mary…" he had whispered, encircling her waist with his arms.

His voice was hoarse, and Mary offered to fetch him some water from the jug on the counter.

He didn't answer, his arms tightening their grip on her, telling her silently what he needed.

She held him, whispering gentle nothings in his ear, and he finally he relaxed into her.

"I'm sorry…" he murmured. "I don't know what's happened… I just thought…" he was blushing, clearly ashamed.

"You don't need to apologize, Matthew. I'm here and I love you."

Mary took a step back, looking straight in his eyes, a small, impish smile on her lips, and she gave him Sir Richard's letter.

"I think this could be interesting for you" she stated.

She looked at him while he scanned the note, his eyes getting angrier and angrier with each line.

"How does he _dare_!" he spit out when he finished reading. "How does he dare to treat you like that! He has no right whatsoever, and he owes you respect, and…"

Mary had put her hand on his forearm, looking tenderly at him.

"Don't be angry, Matthew, please. I'm free, I got rid of him, and that's all that matters." She exhaled, shakily, and she went on. "It won't be easy, and when he publishes his article, well, the storm will hit… I guess I will have a lot more of free time than I have now, as I don't see how possibly anybody will invite me for dinner until the scandal wears out, but…"

He took her hand in his, smiling at her, his anger forgotten.

"You're a storm-braver, Mary, if I ever saw one…" he was looking at her with so much love in his eyes that she felt her heart swell with happiness. "And you must not hide, my darling. I love you, and we will go through everything together." He kissed her knuckles, and he added, "I think I should talk to your father, shouldn't I?"

"We both have to, Matthew" Mary answered. "He still does not know about Pamuk, and I think I should tell him, instead of waiting for the newspapers…" she passed a hand on her forehead, sighing. "He will be terribly disappointed in me, I'm sure, but…"

"Well, then, I think we could talk to him together" Matthew suggested kindly. "Hearing your story followed straight by our plans for marriage could soften the blow."

"I think you actually have a point. We could tell him after lunch, I guess… at least we will have him in the library all alone" she joked, eliciting a soft chuckle from Matthew.

"It's decided, then" he smiled.

Matthew was resting, when his mother burst into his room, a conspiratory smile on her lips.

She hoped Matthew had forgiven her attack on Mary earlier in the morning, and that he would accept her present.

In her handbag, she had one of her most cherished possessions. Her mother's engagement ring, that she had worn countless times after her death, especially when Matthew was a little boy.

He had been fascinated by the delicate diamond ring, a thin band of white gold holding only one, pure, drop-shaped stone.

She put the little black box in his lap, and he saw his eyes sparkle at the sight of the ring.

"Mother" he whispered, his voice cracking, a smile spreading on his lips.

She took his hand. "Well, I thought that you were in need of an engagement ring for Mary… and I had promised you that this ring would be yours to give to your bride, so…"

He was speechless. She had remembered, and she had given him what he wanted, what he needed.

She kissed his cheek, smiling.

"Now I truly must go, dear, or Dr. Clarkson will send out a search party", and she left, barely leaving him the time to thank her before closing the door.

He hid the little box under his pillow, ready to be fetched later.

Mary had gone in Matthew's room to call him for lunch, and he found him, already dressed, peacefully asleep in his chair.

He woke up as soon as she entered the room, smiling and offering her his right hand, inviting her in his embrace.

She noticed in that very moment that Matthew had hidden his left hand in his pocket, and was already withdrawing it.

His eyes shimmering, he took her hand, and placed a little velvet black box in it, opening it so that it showed a delicate diamond ring.

"I wanted to wait for Lord Grantham's permission to do things properly, because I realize that my proposal hasn't been… a traditional one… but I found out I can't wait a minute more…" he whispered, reaching for her other hand.

Holding them both in his own, he looked up at her, locking his gaze with hers.

"Lady Mary Crowley, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" he asked her once again, and she found herself gasping for breath as emotion was choking her.

"Yes" she whispered, bending to kiss him.

His lips were soft and gentle against hers, and she lost herself in the kiss, forgetting everything apart from Matthew, the fact that he loved her, and that she would become his wife.

They broke apart, and he slid the ring that had been his grandmother's on her slender finger, unable to hold back his happy tears, mirror of her own.


	9. As long as you're part of this world

Lord Grantham was at a loss for words.

Here was his eldest daughter, and she had just admitted… he didn't even want to think of that.

He forced himself to look at Mary, _his_ Mary, whose eyes were shining with unshed tears.

He couldn't believe that she had…

"Please, say something, Papa…" she begged him.

"What shall I say, Mary?" he inhaled, sharply, trying to get a hold of himself. "I'm disappointed, very, very disappointed… I would never, never have thought that you could be so… I would never have thought you could behave like that… Or that you could hide such a thing from me… And I can't understand why you have insisted to have Matthew with you, if you wanted to tell me this…" he finished his scotch in one gulp, trying to restore his self control.

"I'm so sorry…" she said, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to hold back from sobbing.

He was utterly surprised when Matthew spoke up.

"Lord Grantham, I… I understand this looks quite strange, but… I am here to ask for your consent. I have proposed to Mary, and she has accepted to become my wife." Matthew looked up at Mary, smiling tenderly, threading her fingers with his.

Robert felt he definitely needed to sit down, and so he did.

_Well, I can't say my life is boring,_ he thought. _What else is going to happen in this house?_

"Did you know about this?" he asked Matthew, a hard shade in his voice. "When you asked her to marry you?"

"Yes, Lord Grantham, Mary had already told me. I don't think any less of her for that." Matthew answered, squeezing Mary's hand in his.

Lord Grantham pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to sort his thoughts.

"Well" he stated "I guess that you know what you're doing …" he smiled tentatively to Matthew. "You have my consent, Matthew." He shook his future son-in-law's hand, and then…

He looked to Mary, seeing a wide range of emotions on her face as she looked at her fiancé and then at him, sadness and regret and pure, unadulterated joy etched on her beautiful face.

"Thank you, Papa" she whispered, her face wet with tears, and he felt a sudden surge of love for his daughter shot through him. He turned to her, hugging her briefly, whispering "I'm happy you chose him, Mary" before letting her go.

Lady Violet Crawley, The Dowager Countess of Grantham, was reading a novel in her drawing room, just after lunch, when someone rang at the door.

It was an unexpected visit, but she was quite pleased to see her granddaughter, Mary, entering the room.

"Hello, Grand-mama" she kissed her cheek before taking a seat on the sofa across from her.

"I am really happy to see you, Mary, but… Is everything all right? Has something happened in the big house?" the Countess asked.

"Oh, everything's quite fine, Grand-mama…" Mary answered.

"It's that quite that scares me" the old lady remarked. "I can tell something has happened, dear, so I can see no point in wasting time with formalities."

Mary told her about the letter from Sir Richard Carlisle, and the Dowager Countess was quite indignant.

"But there's something else you need to know, Grand-mama. Matthew and I are getting married." She finished, smiling, and she gave a shocked look at her grandmother, whose commentary to the announcement of the engagement had been a jubilant "Finally!"

"My dear girl, it was evident to anyone who had a pair of eyes that the two of you were bound to end up together. It has took you a scandalous amount of time to figure it out, but now that you have… Congratulations!" the old lady finished, winking her eye at her flabbergasted granddaughter.

"Thank you" Mary said, as soon as she recovered. "Will you come to dinner tonight? We'll announce the engagement officially".

"Of course I'll come" Lady Violet smiled. "I'll see you later, dear."

Anna noticed with a certain amount of surprise that Lady Mary had put an extra care in the selection of her clothes for that night.

It was bound to be a quiet family affair, and yet the young woman had chosen to wear one of her new gowns, a dark blue sleeveless dress embellished with silver embroidery.

Mary was literally bursting with excitement.

She had told Granny, her parents and Isobel already knew, and yet she was impatient to announce officially her engagement to Matthew.

She couldn't wait to be married to him.

Smiling at the inappropriateness of her thoughts, she put on her gloves, carefully concealing the ring he'd given her, and stepped down the stairs.

He was there, at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for her, and her heart skipped a beat.

She didn't notice a thing apart from Matthew; she looked at him, and she took in everything: his blue eyes, brilliant in the brightly lit hall, his red jacket, highlighting his broad shoulders, his kind smile, the way his face lit up when he saw her appear at the top of the stairs, his lingering gaze locking in hers as she descended.

She bent to kiss his cheek, and he stroked her arm lightly, whispering "You're so incredibly beautiful" in her ear.

They entered the dining room together, but, before taking their usual seats at the table, they stopped in the middle of the room, attracting everyone's attention.

"Matthew and I have an announcement to make" Mary said, her voice resounding high and clear.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Matthew took over.

"Mary and I are engaged to be married" he declared, smiling brightly.

Commotion exploded; Sybil and Edith launched themselves at Mary, congratulating her and starting to question her about the ring, the dress, the veil, the invitations, Sir Richard…

In the meanwhile, the older women smiled knowingly, and Robert offered Matthew a drink, making small talk with his future son-in-law.

Luckily for Mary, who was already tired of answering Edith's impertinent questions, Lady Grantham soon announced that the dinner was served.

That evening was a happy family party; everyone had pleasant moments and for two or three hours they were all able to forget the war and the sorrow it caused.

Matthew had a strange feeling in his lower back; it felt like someone was pinching him hard, but Dr. Clarkson had told him he could occasionally experience a bit of discomfort owing to his injury, and so he decided to ignore it, being far too happy to be bothered by something like that.

By the time the hour to retired had come, however, his back was hurting quite a lot, and his whole upper body had become tense and uncomfortable.

His mother had accompanied him to his room, and Mary was waiting just outside; she would come in once he was safely tucked in bed.

Isobel had noticed his stiff posture, so he told her about the pinching feeling.

She rubbed some salve into his skin, to try and ease the pain, and then she let Mary in, leaving.

"Mama has asked me to set the date" Mary informed him, taking his outstretched hand and sitting down on the edge of his mattress.

"When would you like it to be, darling?" he asked her, smiling.

"I don't know" she answered, her brow furrowing in concentration. "We have to wait at least three weeks, so that the bands can be read… that brings us at the middle of October…"

He knew that the Pamuk scandal would be at its worse by then, and he didn't want it to tarnish their memories of their wedding day.

"How about a Christmas time wedding?" he suggested. "We could get married in the first days of the new year". Mary liked the idea, and they celebrated their agreement to marry on 4th January 1919 with a gentle, long kiss, that sent Matthew's heart beating wild.

He couldn't believe it; being so happy still seemed somehow impossible.

Two months before, he had been in France, fighting, and after that… after being wounded, he had been through so many emotions that he found it hard to believe it was really happening.

He had been convinced, certain, that he would spend the rest of his life alone, that he would never have the chance to live a normal life, and yet, thanks to Mary, her presence, her love, here he was, holding her hand, kissing her… engaged to her.

"My Mary…" he whispered, smiling tenderly.

She smiled back, her eyes soft.

"I truly am, you know. Yours." She was looking at him, her love for him written all over her face. "Only yours, Matthew. Always."

She kissed him, her hands threading in his hair, and he felt a familiar sensation stir in his stomach.

But he knew it wasn't possible, he would _never_ be able to offer himself to her in every way possible, and desperation settled heavily over his heart.

"I love you so much, Mary… if only there was a way I could really be what you need me to be…" he had suddenly become somber, sadness clear in his blue eyes. "I don't deserve you" he muttered, and he felt Mary's gentle hands on his face, her tender gaze locking with his when he looked at her.

"Matthew. I couldn't be happier and you know it. Deep down, you know it. And there's something I have realized long ago, just after I said good bye to you in Downton Station all those years ago. We have tried to ignore it, and we've hurt each other, because we can't… Please, don't try to be strong and sacrifice yourself for me… Because I know perfectly well that I wouldn't be happy with anybody else as long as you are in this world." She stroked his cheek, wiping away gently the few tears he hadn't been able to hold back. "And I know you feel the same about me."

He kissed her, unable to talk, pouring in the kiss every emotion he couldn't express with words.

"Forgive me?" he asked, tentatively, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.

"Sometimes, I just feel so… hopeless… I couldn't do this without you…" he admitted.

"I'm here, and I will always be. I promise." She said, showing him the ring he had given her that very morning, firmly in place on her finger.

"You can't imagine how much I like that" he joked, emotion clear in his eyes while he looked at his ring on her finger, and took in what it meant.

"I hope that is as much as I do", she smiled brightly, kissing him one last time before standing up and bidding him good night.

"Good night, my love". He kissed her knuckles, and let her go.


	10. The lucky one

Matthew woke up in the middle of the night.

It wasn't because of a nightmare, this time; but he had a strange tingling feeling in his legs, and couldn't go back to sleep.

He knew it couldn't be; Dr. Clarkson had categorically excluded that he could ever recover from his injury.

And yet… that strange sensation was there, and he couldn't convince himself it was only a figment of his imagination.

He was feeling it, and he could also feel, really slightly, the pressure of his hand on his thigh.

He wanted to tell someone, but he knew Dr. Clarkson would say it was only his imagination, and he didn't want to put Mary's hopes up… nor his mother's…

When Sybil went into his room, at four o'clock, to help him turn onto his other side, he told her, and she agreed to help him and to keep his secret, at least until they knew a bit more about what was going on.

The following morning, 1st October was starting in a glorious sunshine, and as soon as he got his hands on the morning newspaper, Matthew knew that Sir Richard had kept his word.

The storm had hit.

He put the newspaper aside angrily, disgusted by the article.

_**The cold and controlled Lady Mary Crawley has a skeleton in her cupboard**_

_The eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, Lady Mary Crawley, is well known in society for her self control and her spotless behaviour. _

_Many of us will be shocked and disappointed to learn that she has had a prime role in a strange tragedy happened some years ago, which involved a Turkish diplomat, the late Mr. Pamuk, dying in the Grantham family's estate, Downton Abbey, in Yorkshire._

_According to our anonymous witness, Lady Mary had a passionate liaison with Mr. Pamuk, who, we can reveal, has not died in his own bed, as we have always thought, but in the young lady's…_

Carlisle had gone far beyond simple gossip; he had subtly accused Mary of the alleged killing of Mr. Pamuk.

Matthew rang for Bates, as he wanted to have breakfast in the dining room with Mary and the rest of the family. He knew he would need him, if she was to go through the storm and the scandal caused by the publication of her story.

He had just finished his toast, when she appeared, pale and agitated.

"Good morning, Papa, Matthew." She kissed his cheek, and took her usual spot, sipping her tea half-heartedly. She wasn't hungry at all. "How bad is it?" she asked, trying to sound normal, while she steeled herself and reached for the newspaper.

"Quite bad, I'm afraid" Matthew warned her. "Apparently, Sir Richard is very thorough in his job".

She scanned the article, getting paler and paler with every line she read.

When she finished, she excused herself and left the room, with Matthew frantically wheeling himself in her wake in his attempt to follow her.

He caught Mary at the foot of the staircase, and she was hiding her face in her hands, trembling slightly.

"Mary, talk to me. Please." He caressed her arms, gently and reassuringly. "Darling, please. You know I love you."

She raised her head, her eyes full of tears.

" Matthew…" she whispered. "I'm so, so ashamed… I…" she shook her head.

"Mary." His voice was strong and determined.

" Don't. You love me, you are ready to marry me… no matter how hard I have tried to convince you that I don't deserve you… that I'm impotent and crippled and that I'm not worthy of you… How can you think that an article in a newspaper could change the way I feel about you?" He took her hand, cradling it in both of his. " You make me so happy… You make me feel whole and forget about… the darkest of times…" he sighed, and then went on, "You've lived your life, and I've lived mine, and now it's time we live them together…" his blue, clear eyes locked with hers. "I love you, Lady Mary Crowley. I wouldn't change a single thing of you, my darling. Not a single one."

"Oh, Matthew…" she sobbed, and she kissed him.

He kissed her back, his arms encircling her waist and drawing her nearer to him, his heart swelling with happiness and love and pride, because despite everything he had come back to her, and she had been waiting for him.

The Dowager Countess was quite shocked. Certain men had no sense of shame these days.

She had just read the most unpleasant article about her elder granddaughter, and she was positively sure she would have fainted if it hadn't been the least English thing to do in such a moment.

Or if she had not been informed of the matter.

Lady Violet immediately called on her daughter-in-law, not minding if she actually indulged in the American habit of having her breakfast in bed.

"Cora, we must do something! I'm happy Mary is already engaged to Matthew, but we must act now, announcing it properly, on the newspapers… it will be a miracle if this hasn't been read by the whole court by now!" she said, shoving the article under Cora's nose.

"I've talked to Robert this morning, and he says he will send the announcement this morning, so that they can publish it tomorrow. Sure, I would have rather hoped this came out after the wedding, but I think we must take it as it comes…"

"Yes, my dear, there's nothing else we can do. Even though I'm sorry I can't dispose of that poor excuse for a gentleman myself… I had a couple of ideas on how to teach to Sir Richard how a real gentleman ought to behave."

Leaving Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess went to look for Mary; she had brought along something for her.

"Oh, dear, there you are" she said, approaching the bench where Mary was reading, waiting for Matthew to join her after his physiotherapy.

"Hello, Granny" she stood, and greeted her grandmother with a kiss on her cheek.

"I know this isn't an easy moment, Mary, but I hope you do like this little thing I brought up for you. It's a wedding present, sooner than you expected any", she said, winking happily at her granddaughter, and she put a blue velvet square box on Mary's lap.

She opened it, and she couldn't help gasping in awe.

In the box was an exquisite diamond tiara, in the shape of a delicate branch of little, perfect leaves.

"Oh, Granny, it's so beautiful! Thank you!"

"You're welcome, my dear. I'm glad you like it… it is the very same tiara I wore the day I married your grandfather" Lady Violet revealed, blinking her eye. "And since they say, 'Something old, something new', I thought this could be appropriate". She smiled as her granddaughter thanked her profusely, and then left, satisfied with herself.

Lady Cora had started planning with her daughter for her wedding, but she was worried for Mary.

She had known ever since Matthew had got back from the front that Mary was deeply in love with him, but she couldn't prevent herself from being sad for all the possibilities her daughter was rejecting marrying Matthew.

She tried to voice her worries to Mary, while they prepared to go shopping for her wedding dress in London. The countess of Grantham knew it wasn't a really good moment, but she felt she had to try.

"I'm happy to see you happy, Mary." She started.

"Thank you, Mama" her daughter was smiling, her eyes shining.

"Don't be angry, dear, you know I won't try to make you change your mind, but… Are you really sure that this is what you want?"

"What are you talking about?" Mary's voice was indignant.

"Well, I understand that you're in love, dear, but…"

Mary cut her off. "That's the point, Mama. I'm in love with Matthew, and I want to marry him. There's nothing else to say, because I'm sure. I want to be with him." She looked at her mother, hoping to see understanding on her face.

Cora smiled and hugged her. "That's all I wanted to hear. Let's go, now. I know how picky you are" she joked, and the two women set off.

Mary had exhausted her tailor; the woman had been perfectly kind all along, but she couldn't wait for the bride-to-be to leave. She had had to show her every single item she had in her shop, but in the end Lady Mary had been happy with something, and she had been ordered to work under the strictest of secrets.

The wedding was drawing nearer and nearer, when 10th November came.

Robert answered a phone call at an ungodly hour, but he'd never been happier to have his sleep interrupted.

The war was officially over; the truce would start on the following day, 11th November 1918, at 11 am.

He announced it proudly to his wife, his daughters, the soldiers who were spending their convalescence in Downton, the servants...

Everyone had the same happy, relieved reaction; they had been at war for four, long years, and they couldn't believe it was finally over.

Mary noticed Matthew's stiff posture, and his hasty retreat from the breakfast table after the announcement.

She knew he needed time to process everything on his own, and she headed upstairs, to look through her wardrobe in order to decide what she needed to order to her tailor for her honeymoon.

Once she was done, half an hour later, she saw that Matthew was still out, in the chilly morning hair, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands.

She went out, too; she couldn't pretend she didn't see him suffer, out there in the cold, and so desperate.

Approaching him, she realised he was crying, hard sobs shaking his body and hot tears streaming down through his fingers.

"Matthew" she murmured gently, trying not to startle him. "Darling, what's the matter?"

Mary squashed down in front of him, resting her hands on his and trying gently but firmly to pry them away from his face.

He took hold of her hands, looking at her with such a sadness in his eyes that she felt like crying too.

"It's... Nothing... I just..." he inhaled shakily, trying to calm down enough to talk. "I was thinking... That it's over... And I feel guilty because... So many of my men have died, Mary, so many people I knew... and... I can't understand why I am here, what I' ve done so good or so different to have the chance to get back... I can't understand..." he was so, so, lost, and he started sobbing again, clutching her hands in his, because she was his only reason...

Mary stroked his cheek, tenderly, looking at him with love etched in her every feature.

"Darling... I know there's no sense in what's happened... If working in the hospital has taught me something is that there can't be a reason to kill or wound or mutilate another human being... But the fault or the right are nobody's... And all I know is that you have come back, and that I love you... Maybe we can work on a way to understand everything together..."

He was calmer now; her touch, her words, the mere sound of her voice had created a little bubble of hope in his chest.

He wasn't all right, and he wouldn't be for a long time; but in that moment, on the bank of the river that streamed in the grounds of Downton, in the chilly November air, with her hand in his, Matthew felt that this was his place, and that maybe fate had decided that he had to be with her, that for once he was to be the lucky one.

He nodded, still too overwelmed to talk, and he kissed her.


	11. Of snow and presents

Mary had been looking forward to this for weeks, months even.

The war was over, and Christmas time was approaching; she was so keen on the festivity that she couldn't wait for it to come.

She always enjoyed the happy mood everyone was into, and she had always taken a secret joy in seeing her parents, her siblings, her relatives and also those who worked for them spending some time together.

She also loved looking for the perfect gift for every one of them; this year, she set off on her Christmas shopping with one particular aim: finding something significant and special to give to Matthew.

It wasn't easy; he owned lots of things and Mary didn't want to give him anything he already had.

In the end, she had chosen a fine watch, as she knew he had lost his old one during the war.

Mary knew it couldn't be a replacement, as the lost one had been property of Matthew's father, but she wanted to give him something significant.

She had bought a little masterpiece of a quite famous French brand, Cartier, which had just started producing watches along its renowned jewels but was going extremely well.

Matthew was covered in sweat; Sybil was putting him at work with a series of exercises studied to help his legs gain some force.

It did work, but it was utterly exhausting and it hurt, so it had to be slow and careful, and they had to work in secret, because he didn't want to tell anyone yet.

He couldn't bear to raise hopes, and then shatter them again.

It was Christmas day, and Downton was full of cheerful guests.

The hall was nearly occupied by a huge Christmas tree, and flowers and glass balls and glistening decorations had spread in the house like a most welcome infection.

In the morning, it had started to snow and now everything was white and shiny.

She was ready; Anna had just took off, and she admired herself one last time in the mirror before leaving, ready to join her family in the party.

Mary knew she would spend the whole evening at Matthew's side; she was glad of it, even though she couldn't help worrying about him.

It was the first party he attended after the end of the war, and she knew he looked at it with contrasting emotions.

The dinner was a happy moment; everyone laughed and shared memories, but when the men joined the ladies in the drawing room and the time to open the presents came, Matthew was nowhere near them to be found.

"Oh, dear… I hope he's all right…" everyone had something of this sort to say, and Mary excused herself and left, a bit angry for the pity she could sense in the voices she had heard.

She found Matthew out, in the snowy garden, once again upset and trembling in his white tie.

Her heart swell; she knew how difficult it still was for him to be in society, and that he felt guilty.

She approached him, and knelt down beside him.

"Darling…" she whispered, resting a hand on his.

Matthew didn't raise his head; his eyes, dark and so very sad, fixed on the snow-covered gravel, and he shied away from her touch.

"I don't deserve it, Mary. I don't deserve you and…" His voice was so cold and distant, that her eyes got full of tears.

"…I don't deserve any of this, because… I have done things… I have… killed and shot and left hurt people on the ground to die and I have given orders that got men killed… How can I deserve anything? I'm no better than a murderer…" he was crying, now, sobbing sharply and angrily.

"Matthew…" she whispered, brokenhearted.

"How can you even stand being near to me? I am… unworthy… I can't… I can't even stand, and I have done horrible things, I'm broken and tainted… How can you bear being with me?" he was breathing hard, his eyes looking anywhere but at her, hopelessness beyond limits etched on his face. "I can't even bear being with myself…" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mary felt what was coming, and she decided to stop him.

She knew he loved her, and that all this was caused by survivor's guilt and self-deprecation.

She knew she couldn't stand hearing that he wanted to break the engagement, and she wouldn't let his experience at war bring her away from him.

"Matthew" she said, her voice gentle but resolved. "Look at me. Please."

Tears still on his cheeks, he raised his head, and met her gaze.

His eyes were dull, lifeless, only an infinite sadness in them.

"Do you remember when I told you about Pamuk?" she asked.

"Yes, but… I can't see why you come up with that now, honestly" he answered.

"I was scared and angry, because I was convinced that nobody would have accepted what I had done, and I thought that the moment you knew about that, you would despise me. You have said something that night, that has brought all my fears away… you said you could never despise me, and that you love me."

He smiled bitterly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"It's true, and I do love you, but it doesn't make a difference. I'm not worth it, I will never be…"

"You are. You've always been and you'll always be. Matthew… I love you, more than anything. I have made a huge mistake in 1916, and I'm not going to make it again. Two years ago, you asked me if I loved you enough to spend my life with you, no matter what. I didn't answer because I was stupid, but I've known the answer all along… I do, and I want to. You proposed again, and I've never been happier. I want to be with you, because I love you, and nothing you've said or done can change this. I could never despise you, Matthew…"

He looked at her, astonished by her long declaration, still midway between his hate for himself and his own love and need for her.

Her eyes where shining and her cheeks were pink, and she had never appeared so beautiful.

"Mary…" he whispered, wanting desperately to believe her. "… You have seen… the wounded… How can I have done those things to somebody and still be worthy of love?"

She took his hand, threading her fingers with his.

"Darling, you are. You haven't done those things because of hatred, or for fun… you had to and you did, but you regret it… You still have the heart, the generosity, the honesty you had before… That's what makes you who you are, not the things you had to do while you were away, and not your injury."

She cupped his cheek, smiling softly, and he reveled in the sense of her skin on his, returning her hold on his hand.

"I love you…" he whispered, hoping it would be enough to express all the emotions he felt and he couldn't name.

No matter how hard it was, no matter how difficult he was making it for her, with all his issues and his problems, she was there with him, and she wanted to be there forever.

It still didn't make too much sense to him, and he still wondered, in a little part of his mind, if she couldn't do something better, but she _loved_ him, and he couldn't be without her…

He was still lost in his thoughts, when he felt her slid something in his hands.

Mary smiled apologetically at him.

"I know maybe this isn't the best time for a present, but… I've had it in my bag the whole night, and I was so excited when I got it for you… Would you like to open it?" she asked, almost shyly.

He felt bad, because she had to be really worried about his reaction to it if she looked _shy_, but it was from her and he couldn't bring himself to refuse it, and hurt her in the process. He had hurt her enough for a lifetime…

"Sure" he said. "Thank you, Mary… I mean it…" he smiled at her, his eyes lighter.

He opened the neatly packed little box, and stared in awe at the content.

It was a golden pocket watch, delicate and yet manly, and it looked a lot like the one he had lost…

Matthew was overwhelmed; she had been so attentive, so thoughtful to give him something like that… he couldn't possibly thank her enough.

"My darling…" he whispered, still at a loss for words. "It's so beautiful…" he smiled. "Would you help me?" he asked, and she held the watch for him, while he opened his dinner jacket.

Matthew put his new watch in his pocket, and then took Mary's hand.

"Thank you…" he whispered, and she smiled tenderly at him. "For your wonderful present, but also for your never ending patience… I don't know what I'd do without you, my love…"

She bent to kiss him, and she shivered.

He silently berated himself for being so stupid; it was snowing and she was wearing a sleeveless dress.

They headed back in the house, the despair forgotten; when they re-entered the dining room, however, all the cheerfulness had faded from the party during their absence.

Robert was standing in front of the fireplace, Edith and Sybil were nowhere to be seen and Lady Grantham and the Dowager Countess were talking in hushed tones.

Mary and Matthew felt the tension immediately; something was definitely wrong.

"Papa, what happened?" she asked, dread chilling her insides.

"It's the Spanish flu. Branson has it, and also two of the maids…" he was pale, and clearly worried. "Dr. Clarkson says it's dangerous, and that we must expect anybody who has been close to them in the past week to catch it, too…" he paused, and exhaled heavily. "We must be careful, and it would be better not to see anybody else until he gives us the ok… We don't want to spread it… Matthew, your mother has already retired; you will be staying here in Downton until we won't know something more…"

"Thank you, Robert. I think I'll go too…" he looked at Mary, and she excused herself, accompanying him to his bedroom, where he rang for Bates.

She offered to wait for the valet to retire, but Matthew was categorical.

"No, darling. Go upstairs and get some hot tea to drink before you go to sleep. I've kept you out in the snow for so long, and I don't want you to get ill."

Mary knew it was useless to fight when his mind was so clearly set.

"All right, all right. Good night, then." She smiled, and she kissed his cheek before leaving.

"I love you" he whispered, and she went.

_Please, let her be ok..._ he prayed silently, after he'd got to bed, too. _I know I have tried to convince myself that I'm storng enough to be on my own, but I know I can't be without her..._


	12. For better, for worse

The following morning, Matthew was once again covered in sweat as Sybil helped him through his exercises.

It was rewarding, even though it was painful and extremely tiring; he had been able to see some considerable progress, but he still wanted to keep it a secret.

"God knows I couldn't stand it to disappoint her again…" he had muttered, at Sybil's insistent request to tell Mary about his improvement.

She had tried to reassure him, telling him that she was now sure that the progress he had made was huge and settled, that he would not go back to the state he was in before the physical therapy, but he had been firm in his decision. No one could know; at least not yet.

He had just rang for Bates, when Sybil suddenly became pale, and fainted.

His valet came in mere seconds after, and immediately sent for Dr. Clarkson, while Anna tried to wake up the young lady.

The whole family was upset; breakfast was neglected, everybody too worried to think about eating something.

Sybil wasn't feverish, but she hadn't got back to consciousness yet.

Mary stood, silent and pale, at her sister's bedside, holding spasmodically Matthew's hand.

He knew why she was so anxious; the ghost of the Spanish flu was hovering over them all, and they had to wait until Clarkson's arrival to know something about Sybil's condition.

Lord Grantham had started pacing; he was so worried that he didn't pay attention to anybody, not even to his wife.

Edith was her usual, annoying self despite everything; when she had come in the room, seeing Mary so worried, she had come up with a poisonous "I wouldn't stand so near to her if I were you… It's the 2nd of January, and I'm sure that the wedding would be ruined if the bride caught the flu…".

Mary shot her a murderous glance, but did not speak; she felt nauseous.

The doctor finally arrived; when he came out, after examining Sybil, he had a strange expression on his face.

"It isn't the flu, and I expect she will be all right, when she's rested" he announced. "Lord Grantham, may I have a word?"

Everybody was astonished, but soon got back to usual tasks and pastimes, while Robert invited the doctor to the drawing room with an awkward gesture.

"What is it, Dr. Clarkson?" lord Grantham asked, closing the door.

"Well, your daughter has fainted this morning…" the doctor started. "I'm sure it will come as a shock, but I must inform you that she is with child. She has woken up while I was with her, and she has confirmed that it is possible. She was a bit shaken, but I'm sure she knew what she was talking about. "

Robert silently thanked God he was already sitting.

_Sybil, pregnant? _

"I visited her" Dr. Clarkson went on "and I can confirm that she is about three months along, as she thought. She says she does not want to say who the father is, but he knows and… they're to get married as soon as they can".

Lord Grantham was still speechless.

He had to find out what had happened, and think of a way to make it better, but this time he couldn't possibly imagine how to.

_Cora,_ he thought, while the doctor politely excused himself and left.

Maybe his wife would come up with something.

Lady Grantham had nearly fainted when her husband had told her of her younger daughter's state.

How could that be possible? Sybil had been working in the hospital for months, and most of the young men of her age were at the front…

The only thing that could be done now, they had agreed, was waiting, as they didn't want to bring up more scandal, given Mary's imminent wedding, and they hoped that, in the meantime, their daughter would decide to tell them who was responsible for this mess.

The following day passed incredibly quickly; the whole house had been decorated, food had been prepared and guests had arrived.

Mary's American Grandmother, Mrs. Levinson, had arrived just after lunch, and Downton Abbey had been caught in her enthusiasm and scarce appropriateness.

She had been happy to be introduced to Matthew, and she had been miraculously able to avoid insensitive remarks about him, as she had her part of fun in joking and messing with the Dowager Countess.

Sybil was once again up and about; she looked well and she was her usual, witty self, and when the time to retire for the night had come, Mary's only care was the snow that had started falling at twilight, as she feared it would make it difficult for the carriages to get to the church the following morning.

Despite her apparent tranquility, she couldn't sleep that night; she was excited and happy and nervous and a lot of other things all together, and all she could do was lie and try to rest a bit.

Finally, the sun rose on the morning of the 4th of January 1919; it was a glorious scene, and Mary observed it from the window of her room.

Dawn had come; the sky in front of her was all pink, peach and cream, with the red, inflamed disk of the sun slowly rising from the horizon. On her right, two or three stars still shone, tremulous, in the violet, light blue sky of the West, and birds sang on the trees, greeting the new day.

The scenery, was almost blinding, as a soft, thin veil of snow covered everything in front of her, and shone like thousands of pink gems in the soft light of the rising sun.

Mary felt an odd mixture of feelings; she was happy, incredibly so, as she knew that she would re-enter this very room, in a matter of hours, married to Matthew, and yet, as she listened to the sounds of the waking house, the servants settling the chimneys and rising and getting ready for the busy day ahead, she also felt a bit melancholy.

Her life would change today; it would be irrevocably altered, and even if it was a change she wanted with all her heart, and she had no doubt she would be happy with Matthew, she couldn't help remembering her past life, and shedding a few tears for everything she would say goodbye to.

At six thirty, she rang for Anna.

Getting ready would be a long affair, and she found herself nervous at the thought of some unknown, irreparable, disastrous failing in the dress, or the veil, or of something going wrong during the ceremony, of forgetting the words she had to say…

When her hair was coiffed in fashionable curls, adorned by the precious tiara given by her grandmother, her mother and sisters came in to witness and help to get her in her wedding dress.

It was a long, ivory-coloured satin dress, covered in lace, with long sleeves and a satin belt to knot on her trim hips. It fit her perfectly, and when she saw herself in the mirror, she really felt a bride, and tears threatened to fall again.

Mary tried to think of anything apart from the wedding. She was nervous now, too much for her own good, and she berated herself for being so predictable. She had always thought that the old say, everyone's nervous just before getting married, was stupid, and that she wouldn't be, and still…

She was too happy, too excited; she had thought for so long this could never happen, that, now that the day had come, she couldn't believe it was true… she was going to be Matthew's wife.

She barely heard and answered to the words her sisters and her mother pronounced; she was looking at her reflection, and her heart was swelling with so much emotion she thought it might burst.

Her grandmother shook her out of her reverie; they were alone, and the American woman was sporting a little knowing smile.

"My dear, I wanted to talk to you before I set out for church. I really like the man you've chosen, and I'm proud of you because you have been able to follow your heart… honestly, I wasn't sure you would; you're too much English for your own good."

They both giggled; they knew they had opposite views on the subject, but they respected each other.

"We have our traditions, too, on the other side of the pond… and one says a bride shall wear something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. Your dress is new, and I know the Dowager Countess has given you her tiara, which is undeniably old, as a wedding present… so I've thought I could provide the borrowed item… which also happens to be blue…" she winked, and took out from her purse a little box, handing it to Mary.

She opened it, and gasped. A beautiful pair of sapphire earrings was encased in satin.

"Oh, Grandmama! They're so beautiful! Thank you…"

"I want them back at the end of the day". She cut her granddaughter short, winking. "It's just a loan, you know."

Mary smiled. "Thank you for the loan, then."

Mrs. Levinson stood, and kissed the young bride on her cheek. "Good luck, then, my dear."

She left, and Anna approached Lady Mary, who had already put the borrowed earrings on, with her veil and her bouquet.

It was time; everyone had already left for the church, and Lord Grantham was waiting for his daughter in the hall.

They set off, travelling through the village in their carriage, while the people who had assembled in the street to steal a glance at the bride greeted them.

It seemed that time had started going faster; it was all a mess of colours and voices to Mary, and she was lost in her own thoughts, when she finally got at the entrance of the church with her father.

In that moment, everything became once again real and focused: her father's proud and moved expression, the tenderness with which he kissed her cheek and smiled at her before lowering the front part of her veil; the bubble of excitement and happiness in her throat; the sound of the voices on the other side of the door, and the gentle music drifting to her from the organ.

She was ready, and the door swung open, while the first, glorious notes of the Nuptial March by Liszt permeated the air.

Mary took the first, slow steps, and she raised her eyes, looking past the pews and pews of family and friends, searching for Matthew's shoulders and blond hair, and her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat and tears welling up in her eyes.

She had expected to find him sitting in his wheelchair, his back turned to her…

He was at the altar, standing proudly near his best man, smiling as he hadn't since the war had broken out, his eyes a pool of emotion, love and unshed tears as he searched hers and locked his gaze with hers.

Later, she had been told that everyone had been so surprised that, for a moment, whispers had broken the silence and the harmony of the music, and that Lord Grantham had stopped walking for a moment, completely taken aback.

Mary couldn't remember; she had been drowning in pure, unadulterated joy.

All she could see, and pay attention to, was him, _standing_ there, waiting for her on their wedding day.

She finally reached him, and when Lord Grantham placed her hand in Matthew's, she could feel his fingers tremble slightly.

They shared a radiant smile; he whispered, "You're so beautiful", and she squeezed his hand in hers, so moved she couldn't speak.

They turned together to face the bishop, and he started the service.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God himself, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church; which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee, and is commended in Holy Writ to be honourable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly; but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of God, duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.

First, it was ordained for the increase of mankind according to the will of God, and that children might be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy name.

Secondly, it was ordained in order that the natural instincts and affections, implanted by God, should be hallowed and directed aright; that those who are called of God to this holy estate, should continue therein in pureness of living.

Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.

Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined.

Therefore if any man can shew any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."

A moment of silence came; Mary held her breath, suddenly scared that someone could say something, but it passed uneventfully.

"I REQUIRE and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their matrimony lawful."

Matthew squeezed her hand, slightly, and she smiled, knowing what the gesture meant and grateful for his being in tune with her feelings.

The Bishop went on: "Matthew Reginald, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

He answered, with firm voice: "I will."

The Bishop turned to Mary: "Mary Josephine, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

She answered: "I will.", her voice only slightly breaking with emotion.

The Bishop asked them to hold the other's right hand, and Matthew said after him:

"I, Matthew Reginald, take thee, Mary Josephine, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth."

His voice had slightly quivered, and she had seen his eyes swell with tears, but he smiled at her at the end, and Mary knew that he mirrored her own love, emotion and joy.

"I, Mary Josephine, take thee, Matthew Reginald, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and thereto I give thee my troth."

She had remarked the words "_for better, for worse_", and she had seen in his eyes that he had understood, and that they couldn't be parted anymore, because they had overcome the biggest obstacle they could be confronted with, and they were together still.

They exchanged rings, sliding them on with shaking hands and eyes full of love.

The bishop joined their right hands together and said: "Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."

Then he went on: "Forasmuch as Matthew and Mary have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen"


	13. 4th january 1919

Mary closed quietly the door of her father's study. They had just got back from the church, riding in the Grantham family carriage under the shiny sun of midday.  
Matthew had taken her hand in his, but they hadn't spoken a lot during the short trip, knowing that they needed to be alone.  
At home, they had been granted a little time to talk, and Matthew was looking at her with a smile, while he waited for her to sit at his side.  
She was still flabbergasted; her husband had made her a huge surprise, and she was totally overwhelmed by happiness... And she still couldn't believe that he now was her husband.  
Matthew took her hand, squeezing it lightly.  
"Mary, I..."  
She interrupted him.  
"Matthew... How...? Darling, I can't wrap my mind around what I've seen today..." She smiled.  
"I must thank Sybil, you know... It all started a while ago... I had started to have a strange feeling in my lower back, and I've asked her... I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I was so scared it was nothing... I didn't want to raise hope..." He muttered the last sentence barely audibly, a bitter smile on his lips.  
"Matthew..." She breathed, cupping his cheek with her hand. " I'm utterly happy today... But I would have been anyway...Being with you is all I've ever wanted..."  
She couldn't go on with her little talk, because he had taken her fave in his hands and he was kissing her, sweet and passionate, and she got completely lost in him.  
Eventually, they broke apart, and he smiled at her, his breath faster than usual, mirroring Mary's.  
"I think we shall go back to the party... They're waiting for us, Mrs. Crawley..."  
Mary gave him a pointed look, but her expression immediately softened.  
"I like that." She admitted, blushing slightly. "Ok, let's go, or they'll send out a search party after us."  
The celebration went on till late that night; luncheon and tea were followed by a formal dance in honour of the newlyweds.  
They had fun, enjoying the freedom to be with each other they had acquired as a married couple. Matthew turned somber in the evening; he was really tired, and he couldn't take Mary on the dance floor to open the dances.  
They were sitting at their table, and she sensed his mood.  
"Matthew..." She whispered, lacing her fingers with his. "What's wrong?"  
He was sullying, glaring at the couples dancing fluidly to the classic waltz.  
"If everything had been as it should have,you would have been dancing with your husband right now... Instead of sitting here with a cripple..." He wasn't looking at her, and his jaw was set.  
Her eyes were full of tears, but she kept them at bay. She wouldn't let him take all the blame for something which was of no consequence.  
"Matthew, stop it. I don't care in the least about the dance. All I care about is that I love you and this morning I have become your wife. There's nothing else I could ask for."  
They kissed briefly, trying to keep things proper, and they cut the cake, smiling, among the cheering and well-wishes of their guests.  
She changed quickly in her get-away dress, and Matthew grasped her hand, descending with her the steps in front of Downton Abbey, getting rapidly in the car.

The trip to London was comfortable, and they happily settled in Grantham house for the night. The following morning they were to head to Dover, and to France from there.  
Mary felt slightly nervous as she rubbed cream into her hands.  
Despite everything, she didn't know what to expect from her wedding night, because she had figured out only that morning that she was going to have a proper one.  
She jumped a bit when Matthew knocked, and her "Come in!" was slightly high-pitched, but she felt a happy kind of nervousness.  
He came in, wearing his pajama, and he looked at her with a shy smile.  
Matthew was in awe; Mary was sitting at her toelette, her long, dark hair falling in waves down her back. She was wearing a long, silken, ivory nightgown, and she was so beautiful that he couldn't help staring at her.  
Mary stood, and he recovered his ability to think straight.  
He took two or three steps, and he joined her in front of the mirror. She was still looking at it, controlling a bit nervously her flawless attire.  
Matthew passed his arms around her waist, hugging her, his chest accommodating easily her thin frame. He kissed her cheek, and put his chin on her shoulder; Mary was looking back at him through the mirror, and they smiled.  
"Are you tired, darling?" Matthew asked her, tracing patterns on her arms with his fingertips.  
"Not too much" she answered, blushing slightly. He sensed her nervousness, and he gently turned her to face him, cupping her cheek, looking at her with tenderness.  
"Mary, please, don't be afraid. I love you so much... I would never do anything..."  
She closed her eyes, leaning in his touch, his tenderness choking her with so much emotion...  
Turning her head, she pressed a kiss into his palm. "I trust you, Matthew. I love you... And I want to be with you..."  
He kissed her, hugging her to his chest, flush with him, and she answered with passion, her hands on his back and in his hair,trying to get as near as possible to him, and yet it wasn't enough...  
She giggled when he lifted her in his arms, but she quickly sought his mouth for another kiss when he put her gently on the bed, joining her and lying down at her side.  
He kissed down her neck, and when his lips got to the hem of her nightdress, he raised his head and looked at her, asking for permission.  
She nodded, her fingers trying to undo the buttons of his shirt, and he slid down the straps of her nightgown, taking it slowly off her.  
He was holding his breath; he was head over heels in love with her, and she was in love with him, and she was giving herself to him... She was his wife, and she was so incredibly beautiful...  
He kissed her, and his shirt joined her nightgown on the floor.  
"I love you..." He whispered among kisses, and they started together a journey, finally being one.

Back in Downton, Sybil was in trouble. Her mother and father had questioned her on her situation, and she had been asked to reveal who her secret beau was.  
She knew she would have to, eventually, but she was worried that, if she did now, her father would kick Branson out, even if he was still sick, having just passed the worse of the Spanish flu.  
She had talked to him, telling him about the fainting and that Lord Grantham knew she was with child, and he had asked her to marry him, teats pooling in his eyes when he realised he was going to be a father.  
He truly loved her, and with this certainty Sybil felt stronger.  
"I am going to marry the father of my child, Papa, as soon as I can. I know that I've disappointed you, and I'm sorry, but we are in love, and this is everything I could wish for. You want to know him, but you already do; his name is Tom Branson."  
Mayhem followed; everyone was talking at once, screaming almost.  
Sybil waited while her parents recovered from the blow, and she listened patiently to her father's rantings.  
She had known from the start that everyone would think she would be marrying below her, but she had never cared for her title; she had never enjoyed being pampered in luxury, nor having to change three or four times a day.  
During the war, working as a nurse, she had understoodwhat was truly important in life, and she didn't care for the money she was losing marrying Branson; all she asked to her father was not to ban her from the family.  
Lord Grantham was shocked; he was at a complete loss.  
Sybil, his younger daughter, engaged to an Irish chauffeur.  
His world was upside down; but as he listened to her brief speech, he couldn't find it in his heart to yell at her, and kick them both out forever.  
He had only one route left, if he wanted to save his daughter from complete disgrace: he had to agree to the marriage, just as Cora had forecast when they had got the news.  
And so he did.


	14. Of ghosts and magic

_A/N: A huge thanks to all the people who have reviewed, favorited and followed this story, and to all the silent readers. _

_Your presence and support through it all are an enormous help for me..._

_I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, and you are most welcome if you feel like leaving a review to let me know what you think about it! _

Mary and Matthew had just got on the ferry boat to France.  
It was an extraordinarily good day in Dover and the winter sun was shining over the Channel; if you looked carefully enough you could even make out the coast line of France in the distance.  
As the boat left England, the young couple stood on deck, watching at the seagulls, who flied high and screeched, as if they were saying goodbye to the boat and the people on it.  
Matthew had been holding her hand for a while, now, and Mary was suddenly aware that he was shaking.  
She looked at him, and he looked terrified, his face ashen and his breath too quick. They were on their own, near the back of the ship, as they had been walking quietly, and no one was near.  
Mary took his face in her hands, gently brushing back his unruly forelock.  
"Matthew?" she called him, worried that he wouldn't acknowledge her presence.  
"Mary?" he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes looking frantically around.  
"You're all right, darling, I'm right here..." she soothed, trying to bring him back from the tormented place he was so evidently in.  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes glazed over. "Please, please, go... It's... too dangerous... You can't stay here, Mary, please..."  
She was quite scared now; he was having some kind of flashback.  
"Matthew, the war has been over for months now... We're going to France... There's nothing to be scared of... Please, sweetheart, calm down..."  
She placed her hand on his shoulder, gingerly, and when she saw that he didn't shrug it off she started tracing small, reassuring circles on his back, pulling him to her, hoping he would somehow feel safe and get back to her.  
Gradually, he started to recover, and he let out a shuddering breath, hugging her tightly to his chest.  
"I'm so sorry..." he whispered. "I guess I..."  
She placed a finger on his lips, smiling slightly. "You don't need to apologise, Matthew... If you want to talk about it I'm more than willing to listen to you... But there's no need to apologise at all..."  
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then he whispered, "We left for France for the first time on a day pretty much like this, in the early autumn of 1916. I had just finished the training and I was quite eager to get in action. I thought I was ready, prepared for it, but I was dead wrong...  
When we arrived in the region where the fighting was taking place at the time, they sent us all in a field, and gave us a short speech about the enemy, what was expected from us in battle, and some rules.  
They sent us off, to the trenches, like that, and even though I was twenty-four at the time I was one of the older men in there.  
That very night, they attacked us. It was... I have no words for it. After ten minutes of it, I knew all I wanted was to get back to England, to... you... That I didn't want to be involved in any of that horror, that... And yet, that night I shot and fighted, and I killed German soldiers.  
When everything was calm again, and I got the chance to think about what I had done... I was so disgusted with myself I wished I had died... But it was my duty and all I could do was try and be numb and do what they told me to do..."  
He was crying quietly, now, tears streaming down his cheeks as he talked, but she waited for him to finish his tale before moving.  
"And... For a moment... When the ship has started its trip, when it got away from the pier... I have gone back on that ship, on that day, on those fields... You were with me, and I was so scared... I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you..."  
She raised her hands, and wiped away his tears with gentle fingers and sweet, little kisses on his cheeks, his chin, his lips.  
"Matthew..." she whispered, and when he looked into her eyes he saw they were brimmed with tears. "I know that the places we're going to pass through on our way to Côte d'Azur are full of unpleasant memories for you... And I know I can't ask you to forget all about your time at war... I'd just like you to have new, pleasant memories to think of when France comes to your mind..."  
Mary was looking at him with so much love and adoration etched all over her face Matthew felt his heart was going to burst with emotion.  
It was true; he knew that the painful memories of his time at war would accompany him for a very long time, but right then and there, with Mary, his wife, in his arms, on the ferry to their honeymoon, he felt that all he wanted, all he could ever wish for, was exactly what he was going to have. The chance to spend his life with the incredibly lovely woman he had married the day before.  
And all he could do, was bend down his head and kiss her passionately, whispering that he loved her every single time they came apart for breath.  
That night, they were cuddling in their suite at the Ritz hotel in Paris, after a late dinner.  
They were exhausted, as they had spent the whole day travelling, but Matthew had insisted...  
He had taken her out, "for a walk", he had said, almost as soon as they had checked in at the hotel, and he had hired a taxi, speaking a fluent French that had half surprised, half irritated her, as it was so much better than hers, and she hadn't understood where he was taking her.  
Mary had settled on the leather seat of the car, comfortable and relaxed in her husband's embrace, and had enjoyed the sight of Paris' boulevards bathed in the last rays of sun.  
They had got off the taxi in what looked like a huge field, in front of a fiabesque building, all white stone and domes.  
"This is the Montmatre Cathedral" he had explained, smiling, as she took his arm. "I haven't spent very much time in Paris while I was... over here, but... This has always been my favourite spot in the city. I always thought of you, and I used to imagine what your reaction... might have been... if I ever got to bring you here to share this with me..."  
They'd reached the opposite side of the street, and now they were looking on to Paris' roofs, bathed in the rosy shade of twilight; they were on the hill, and the city was spread out at their feet, beautiful and looking like a mirage.  
She turned to him, in awe at the spectacular landscape in front of her, and so very moved by what he had done and said.  
"Oh, Matthew..." she whispered, overwhelmed with emotion at his gestures and his words.  
"It's... Magical. I... Have no words... Thank you for showing me..." She murmured, as he took her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.  
"I love you, Mary... You are everything to me... Everything..."  
They had hurried back to the hotel, electricity sparkling between them, and now they were lying in their bed, blissfully happy and satisfied.  
Matthew kissed her hair, tracing patterns on her bare back with his fingertips.  
"Love..." he whispered, breaking the silence. "I have been thinking... I'd like to make a detour on our way south... If that's okay with you..." He had tensed as he spoke, and she raised her head to look at him.  
"I don't mind at all, darling. Where would you like to go?" she asked.  
"I..." he paused, suddenly serious. "I'd like to stop and visit a war cemetery near here. A friend of mine is buried there, and..." he was looking apologetically at her, as if he felt guilty for asking her to do such a thing while they were on honeymoon.  
"Of course we'll go, Matthew." She said, smiling softly and intertwining her fingers with his. "I'll be there with you, tomorrow and whenever you'll need me."  
He kissed her again, and they slowly fell asleep, happy in each other's arms.


End file.
